H  E  ART  S 

ARE,  TRUMPS 


ALEXANDER  OTIS 


^ 

C7 


HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 


HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 


NEW  YORK 

THE   JOHN   McBuiDE   Co. 
1909 


COPYRIGHT,  1 909,  BY 
THE  JOHN  McBwoE  Co 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I — I  Start  on  My  Vacation 1 

II — Predicament 19 

III — The  Inquisition 32 

IV— Beatrice 47 

V — An  Interloper 62 

VI— I  Speak  Out 80 

VII— Flight 94 

VIII— A  Chance  Encounter 112 

IX— The  Best  Man. 127 

X— The  Garment  of  Betrayal 142 

XI— The  Bishop 156 

XII— Entanglements 172 

XIII— Artifice    187 

XIV— Plot  and  Surprise 202 

XV— On  the  Trail 215 

XVI— Captive    228 

XVII— A  Corner  in  Clothes-line 240 

XVIII — Love  Among  the  Roses 252 

XIX— The  Voice  of  Authority 264 

XX— Wanted:    A  Husband 281 

XXI — Complications   293 

XXII— General  Dementia 308 

XXIII — Boomerang 


2137539 


HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

CHAPTER  I 

I  START  ON  MY  VACATION 

Through  the  lace  curtains  of  a  wide  bay-win- 
dow came  a  stream  of  fresh  mountain  air  and 
beams  of  bright  sunshine,  while  the  chimes  of  a 
neighbouring  church  pealed  joyously  in  the  blue 
air,  sending  to  my  ears  their  mellow  lin-lan-lone, 
their  distant  melody,  which  the  breeze  brought  to 
me  sometimes  louder  and  sometimes  fainter,  as 
the  wind  rose  or  fell.  There  was  a  repetition  of 
the  rap  on  the  door  that  had  awakened  me,  fol- 
lowed by  the  announcement:  "It's  half  past 
eight,  sir.  Breakfast  at  quarter  past  nine." 

I  arose,  and  after  collecting  my  scattered  senses 
and  a  few  garments,  looked  out  of  the  bay-win- 
dow. The  view  was  glorious,  stretching  across  a 


2  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

wide,  deep  valley  to  lofty  hills  beyond.  The 
little  church,  nestling  among  the  trees  on  the 
hither  slope,  must  be  the  place  whence  the  chimes 
had  pealed.  And  even  as  I  formed  the  thought, 
their  voices,  momentarily  hushed,  again  resumed 
their  insistent  melody.  The  tune  was,  "Ancient 
of  Days." 

I  rather  wondered  at  their  having  such  chimes 
in  a  small  country  place  like  Hilltown.  The 
grounds  about  the  inn,  too,  would  have  done 
credit  to  any  millionaire's  residence.  They  were 
the  finest  hotel  grounds  I  had  ever  seen.  The 
bells  continued  to  call  their  message  to  the  hill- 
tops, to  the  woodland,  to  the  spirit  of  beauty 
everywhere,  to  whatever  of  joy  and  of  reverence 
still  lingered  in  the  world  of  man.  It  was  Sun- 
day morning. 

My  inner  man  began  to  assert  himself;  not  my 
soul,  I  regret  to  say,  merely  my  appetite.  This 
served  to  bring  me  down  to  the  practical  things 
of  life.  Feeling  that  the  day  called  for  the  clean- 
est of  fresh  linen,  I  sought  my  suit-case.  But  the 
bag  I  produced  from  the  closet  wasn't  mine  at 


I  START  ON  MY  VACATION  3 

all.  It  was  a  glossy,  tan  kit-bag  of  the  latest 
Cross  pattern.  Mine  had  been  a  suit-case  worn 
and  travel-stained.  Yet  that  blunder,  serious 
though  it  was,  was  only  part  of  the  trouble.  The 
silken  tile  the  porter  had  stuck  on  my  head  lay 
before  me.  Instead  of  my  outing- jacket  I  beheld 
the  solemn  frock-coat  he  had  hustled  onto  my 
back. 

But  now  I  was  awake,  and  as  I  breathed  in  the 
tonic  qualities  of  the  Berkshire  air  I  was  inclined 
to  look  at  all  things  from  a  cheerful  point  of 
view.  It  couldn't  be  helped.  So  I  opened  the 
grip,  which  luckily  was  not  locked,  and  drew  out 
a  rather  clerical-looking  collar.  It  was  at  least 
a  size  too  large,  and  seemed  intended  to  go  on 
hind-side-to.  I  succeeded  in  getting  it  into  place, 
however.  The  other  man  would  have  to  do  some 
choking,  while  I  had  plenty  of  breathing-space. 
Under  the  circumstances  I  decided  to  make  my 
own  shirt  serve  me  until  Monday,  and  undertook 
no  further  depredations  among  the  stranger's 
linen. 

It  was  not,  then,  all  a  dream ;  the  clothes  were 


4.  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

pretty  tangible  evidence  of  the  reality  of  my  ex- 
perience. Gradually,  as  I  sat  down  and  tried  to 
center  my  somewhat  scattered  faculties  on  the 
matter,  the  course  of  events  of  the  preceding 
night  came  back  to  me. 

A  long  course  of  overwork  and  social  dissipa- 
tion had  left  me,  Basil  Plympton,  well  nigh  a 
nervous  wreck.  I  had  decided  on  an  immediate 
and  extensive  vacation  as  my  only  hope  of  salva- 
tion. I  dropped  my  work  as  dramatic  and  musi- 
cal critic  for  the  time  being,  so  far  as  my 
connection  with  one  of  Gotham's  leading  news- 
papers was  concerned,  though  I  had  in  my  grip 
the  manuscript  of  a  play  that  Carl  Krull  had  en- 
trusted to  me  for  a  reading.  Krull  was  one  of 
New  York's  leading  theatre  lessees  and  man- 
agers, and  had  a  reputation  for  bringing  out  new 
actors  and  plays  of  first-class  caliber.  I  was  one 
of  five  men  to  whose  judgment  he  submitted 
every  new  play,  and  he  never  put  one  on  without 
our  united  approval.  He  was  a  thrifty,  cautious 
German,  was  Carl,  and  well  deserved  the  success 
he  had  achieved. 


I  START  ON  MY  VACATION  5 

"Have  you  looked  over  'Diamonds  Lead, 
but  Hearts  are  Trumps?'  "  he  wrote.  "The  other 
four  all  say  it  is  a  'corker',  and  I  am  only  waiting 
to  hear  from  you.  Come  to  Hilltown  for  that 
vacation  you  spoke  of  taking  and  bring  the  manu- 
script with  you.  I  must  decide  the  matter  at 
once,  if  I  am  to  produce  the  play  this  fall." 

I  had  been  so  pressed  with  work  for  the  two 
weeks  before  starting  on  my  outing  that  I  had 
had  no  time  to  look  over  the  play.  I  was  to  see 
Carl  in  the  morning,  and  it  would  not  do  to  have 
to  confess  that  I  had  not  even  glanced  at  the 
manuscript.  I  had  barely  time  to  run  it  through 
hastily  before  putting  it  into  my  grip  on  leav- 
ing for  the  train.  The  handwriting,  I  no- 
ticed, was  feminine  and  bespoke  a  cultivated 
mind  and  an  artistic  temperament.  The  plot 
was  clever  and  original,  but  its  general  lay-out 
indicated  a  woman's  view  of  things.  It  was  a  keen 
view,  though,  and  a  cheerful  one.  Whatever  my 
final  verdict  might  be  as  to  the  intrinsic  merit  of 
the  composition,  I  made  up  my  mind  at  once  that 
the  writer  was  a  charming  girl  and  one  whom  I 


6  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

would  like  to  meet.  Even  harried  and  fagged  as 
I  was  I  could  not  help  laughing  over  one  or  two 
of  the  situations. 

As  far  as  I  could  see,  the  other  readers  were 
probably  right.  My  off -hand  judgment  agreed 
with  theirs,  that  the  new  play  was  a  "find." 

No  name  was  attached  to  it,  but  I  was  con- 
vinced that  it  was  a  first  venture.  In  spite  of 
its  extreme  cleverness,  it  bore  some  earmarks  of 
the  amateur,  though  it  had  evidently  been  read 
over  and  corrected  by  a  man  with  wide  experi- 
ence on  the  stage.  It  was  marked  by  many  in- 
terlineations and  corrections  in  a  masculine  hand. 

Even  the  slight  mental  exertion  of  arousing 
myself  to  this  light  task  exhausted  me  com- 
pletely. It  was  nearly  time  for  me  to  leave  for 
my  train,  and  I  was  tired  out.  That  I  could  ap- 
preciate any  dramatic  work  while  in  such  a 
condition  was  a  high  tribute  to  his  intrinsic 
merits. 

As  I  staggered  aboard  the  train,  five  minutes 
before  midnight,  I  had  another  bad  attack  of 
faintness.  The  porter  was  just  making  up  the 


I  START  ON  MY  VACATION  7 

last  two  berths,  five  and  seven.  I  saw  him  hang- 
ing up  a  frock  coat  and  silk  hat  belonging  to 
lower  seven.  Five  happened  to  be  mine,  and 
seven  some  one  else's. 

Having  nothing  else  to  do,  I  went  into  the 
smoking  compartment.  Among  its  occupants 
was  a  fleshy  young  man  of  clerical  aspect,  who 
was  sitting  in  an  alpaca  coat,  chatting  sociably 
with  a  fellow  passenger.  Dropping  into  a  vacant 
seat,  I  picked  up  a  newspaper  and  commenced 
to  read.  The  only  item  that  attracted  any  espe- 
cial attention  from  me  was  one  relating  to  the 
Apthorpes.  The  Apthorpes  were  a  proud  and 
wealthy  family  who  had  dug  up  a  set  of  ancestors. 
Buried  ancestors  are  easier  to  locate  than  buried 
treasure,  otherwise  we  should  all  be  digging  for 
the  latter.  They  were  pillars  of  the  Episcopal 
church,  and  extremely  good  and  proper  people. 
Jim  Apthorpe  belonged  to  the  group  of  pious 
millionaires  who  rob  the  poor  to  give  unto  the 
Lord,  making  no  change  in  the  financial  status 
of  either,  but  serving  to  lay  up  treasures  in  heav- 
en and  to  keep  the  long  green  in  circulation. 


8  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

With  all  their  wealth,  with  all  their  ancestors, 
and  with  all  their  piety,  a  rather  unusual  thing 
had  occurred  within  the  circle  of  that  exclusive 
family.  Miss  Beatrice  Apthrope,  the  only  un- 
married daughter,  and  with  her  sister,  Mrs. 
Gosse,  the  heir  presumptive  to  several  millions, 
had  just  announced  her  engagement  to  Harry 
Fielding,  the  popular  actor,  who  had  created 
something  of  a  furore  among  matinee  girls 
during  the  season  just  closed.  Naturally  there 
was  all  sorts  of  talk  about  a  match  which  had 
given  the  four  hundred  a  fit  of  nervous  prostra- 
tion. All  things  considered,  it  was  indeed  a 
strange  alliance. 

In  her  own  set  Miss  Beatrice  Apthorpe  had 
the  reputation  of  being  clever  and  accomplished, 
and  though  not  much  over  twenty  was  considered 
to  be  unusually  mature  and  a  girl  of  refined 
nature. 

Fielding  was  reported  to  be  a  handsome,  fasci- 
nating fellow  of  vast  assurance  and  low  origin. 
I  had  seen  him  act,  but  we  had  not  met.  Even  if 
the  young  lady  had  taken  a  romantic  fancy  to 


I  START  ON  MY  VACATION  9 

him,  it  seemed  strange  that  her  proud  and  aris- 
tocratic relatives  should  countenance  such  a 
match.  Yet  (and  it  was  the  most  peculiar  cir- 
cumstance of  all)  the  girl's  family  encouraged 
the  alliance,  so  report  declared.  Gossip  had  it, 
in  fact,  that  it  was  the  parents  who  were  hasten- 
ing the  culmination.  This  seemed  highly  im- 
probable, yet  the  city  editor  of  my  own  paper  had 
it  on  good  authority. 

The  pair  were  to  be  married  at  once  and  sail 
immediately  after  for  Europe.  A  report  of  the 
wedding  was  a  thing  to  be  desired  by  all  news- 
papers, but  it  was  scarcely  likely  that  any  of  them 
would  obtain  one,  at  least  first-hand.  The  wed- 
ding was  to  be  private,  only  immediate  members 
of  the  families  being  present.  It  was  to  take 
place  at  Burgmoor,  the  summer  residence  of  the 
Apthorpes,  which  was  at  Greenford,  a  station 
on  the  same  line  as  Hilltown,  my  destination,  and 
about  twenty  miles  south  of  it.  The  fact  that  the 
scene  of  this  social  comedy  was  in  the  vicinity  of 
my  own  destination  was  what  enlisted  my  some- 
what listless  interest.  All  newspaper  correspon- 


10  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

dents  had  been  warned  to  keep  away,  Apthorpe 
having  refused  all  requests  from  the  various  pa- 
pers to  send  representatives.  Some  of  this  I 
gathered  from  the  article  before  me;  the  rest  I 
had  read  before. 

I  was  very  sleepy  and  soon  went  to  my  berth. 
The  porter  had  finished  his  task  and  disappeared. 
In  my  comatose  condition  I  must  have  tumbled 
into  lower  seven,  instead  of  lower  five.  When  I 
had  been  asleep  for  what  seemed  like  five  min- 
utes, I  was  roused  to  semi -consciousness  by  some 
one  shaking  me  violently  by  the  shoulder.  A 
gentleman  with  a  suave  voice  and  clerical  smile 
was  trying  to  wake  me  up  and  explain  things. 
But  I  did  not  want  to  be  disturbed  and  told  him 
so.  I  also,  if  I  remember  rightly,  made  some 
pointed  and  pertinent  reference  to  the  tropical 
regions.  I  told  him  I  was  in  my  own  berth  and 
wanted  to  sleep,  and  that  it  would  be  better  for 
him  to  seek  the  right  place  now  even  if  he  persist- 
ed in  going  to  the  wrong  one  hereafter.  He  was 
in  no  mood  to  discuss  his  soul's  ultimate  destina- 
tion, and  must  have  taken  my  advice  and  occupied 


I  START  ON  MY  VACATION  11 

the  other  berth,  for  he  disturbed  me  no  more.  So 
much  for  being  good-natured;  it  doesn't  pay,  in 
the  long  run.  Of  course  I  was  very  sleepy,  or 
I  should  have  been  less  rude. 

The  porter  aroused  me  a  few  minutes  after- 
ward it  seemed,  though  it  was  five  hours  later, 
in  point  of  fact.  While  I  was  still  dazed  and  more 
than  half  asleep  he  helped  me  on  with  my  clothes, 
clapped  a  hat  on  my  head,  stuck  a  grip  into  my 
hand,  and  bundled  me  off  the  train  which  drew 
away  from  the  little  station  as  my  feet  touched 
the  platform,  having  barely  come  to  a  full 
stop. 

Had  I  been  fully  awake  I  would  scarcely 
have  permitted  myself  to  be  handed  into  the 
waiting  carriage  and  driven  without  explanation 
to  my  destination.  But  as  I  felt  then  I  didn't 
care  what  became  of  me  as  long  as  I  could  sleep, 
and  it  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  I  was,  for  all 
practical  purposes,  performing  accustomed  mo- 
tions from  force  of  habit  rather  than  of  my  own 
volition.  I  again  partly  awoke  as  we  lurched  in- 
to a  driveway,  under  a  rustic  arch.  I  glanced 


12  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

back  at  the  gate,  over  which  was  a  rustic  sign, 
lettered  in  wooden  filigree  work.    It  read: 

ROOM  GRUB 

No,  there  was  no  mistake  about  that  ridiculous 
sign.  That  is  what  it  said.  It  does  still! 

I  merely  followed  the  man  who  took  my  grip 
up  a  broad  stairway,  and  into  a  sumptuous  apart- 
ment whose  snowy  bed  looked  very  inviting. 
Five  minutes  later  I  was  sound  asleep. 

The  hat,  the  coat  and  the  bag  doubtless  all  be- 
longed to  the  clergyman  who  had  good-naturedly 
allowed  me  to  remain  in  his  berth  while  he  took 
mine,  when  he  saw  how  tired  and  sleepy  I  was. 
It  seemed  clear  that  I  had  been  put  off  at  his 
destination  while  he  had  probably  been  carried 
on  to  mine.  I  could  not  repress  a  chuckle  at  the 
vision  of  the  reverend  young  gentleman  wearing 
my  jaunty  hat  and  outing  jacket.  All  in  all,  I 
had  much  the  best  of  the  bargain  and  should  be 
thankful. 

Where  was  I?    As  I  stood  before  the  mirror, 


I  START  ON  MY  VACATION  13 

adjusting  my  cravat,  my  eyes  lighted  on  the 
photograph  of  a  young  woman  on  the  bureau  be- 
fore me.  Assuredly  she  was  no  inn-keeper's 
daughter;  that  fact  was  patent  to  me  at  the  first 
glance.  It  was  a  face  to  be  remembered,  one  to 
dream  about.  It  was  original,  moody,  joyous 
and  pure.  The  features  were  necessarily  a  little 
irregular  to  express  all  that.  The  right  eyebrow 
was  highly  arched  and  the  other  almost  straight. 
The  left  corner  of  the  mouth  had  a  droll  droop 
and  the  right  a  slight  smile.  The  eyes  looked  at 
you  from  under  a  veil  of  remarkably  long  lashes, 
and  the  retrousse  nose  seemed  to  have  just  scent- 
ed mischief.  She  was  fashionably  dressed,  yet 
there  was  something  even  in  the  drapery  of  her 
flowing  sleeves  that  indicated  originality. 

It  was  not  at  all  probable  that  the  photograph 
of  such  a  girl  would  be  found  in  the  bedroom  of  a 
country  hotel,  nor  were  the  dainty  water-colors 
that  adorned  the  walls,  the  vase  of  fresh  roses  on 
the  stand,  the  S wiss  clock  on  the  mantel,  and  the 
various  other  appointments  that  bespoke  both 
taste  and  wealth,  at  all  likely  to  be  furnished  by 


14  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

a  public  hostelry.  These  things  made  me  think 
that  the  destination  of  the  young  clergyman  must 
have  been  a  private  dwelling,  and  some  residence 
of  the  refined  and  well-to-do  as  well.  This  ex- 
plained also  the  extensive  and  picturesque 
grounds  and  the  fine  chimes.  Wealth  can  com- 
pass almost  anything  of  a  material  sort.  The 
fact  gradually  percolated  through  the  somewhat 
dense  strata  of  my  overworked  mentality  that  I 
had  not  only  appropriated  the  young  clergyman's 
grip,  coat  and  hat,  but  that  I  had  been  seized  up- 
on by  the  servants  of  some  wealthy  family  as  an 
expected  guest.  I  had  been  given  a  drive 
intended  for  the  minister ;  I  had  been  shown  to  a 
room  prepared  for  him,  and  I  had  occupied  the 
couch  spread  for  his  repose.  The  unsuspicious 
family  below  stairs  were  without  doubt  at  this 
moment  waiting  to  donate  me  his  breakfast. 
Doubtless  Carl  Krull  was  waiting  for  me  also; 
he  would  have  to  wait. 

How  was  I  to  extricate  myself  from  this  pre- 
dicament? I  went  to  the  window  with  the  wild 
notion  of  jumping  out  and  making  a  run  for  it. 


I  START  ON  MY  VACATION  15 

There  were  difficulties.  If  I  jumped  out  it  was 
not  at  all  likely  that  I  would  be  able  to  run  until 
after  I  had  been  taken  to  the  hospital  and  treat- 
ed. Besides,  while  in  my  own  clothes  I  might 
have  chanced  the  latter  part  of  it,  were  I  able  to 
run  after  alighting,  in  the  parson's  costume  it 
would  have  been  highly  undignified.  I  wasn't 
arrayed  for  the  part  of  a  runaway  thief,  and  I 
ought  to  have  a  proper  respect  for  the  cloth,  espe- 
cially when  it  was  borrowed  cloth.  Frock  coat 
and  silk  hat  would  be  an  unseemly  sight  if  seen 
streaking  across  a  broad  lawn  at  a  quarter  to  nine 
in  the  morning.  A  couple  of  hours  after  they 
might  think  me  late  to  church;  but  something 
would  have  to  be  done  long  before  that.  Yet 
coatless  and  hatless  I  would  be  a  marked  man  and 
quite  likely  to  be  held  up  and  asked  to  explain 
myself  before  I  reached  the  gate. 

There  were  people  astir  in  the  hall  and  parlors 
below ;  any  hope  of  my  getting  away  unobserved 
was  chimerical.  And  the  sounds  I  heard  did  not 
seem  to  be  the  voices  of  servants ;  members  of  the 
household  were  about.  This  was  made  plain  by 


16  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

a  laugh,  a  girl's  laugh,  a  mirthful,  tinkling,  sil- 
ver-toned runlet  of  musical  notes,  sweeter  than 
the  notes  of  the  chimes  and  more  joyous.  Of 
course  the  laugh  belonged  to  the  photograph ;  of 
that  there  could  be  no  question.  If  the  miniature 
mouth  were  quickened  into  life  it  would  make 
just  that  sort  of  music  in  its  mirthful  moments. 
But  I  was  growing  desperate.  If  I  did  not 
make  a  break  and  get  away  soon,  the  breakfast 
would  be  announced,  and  I  would  be  proclaimed 
an  interloper  or  a  thief,  and  even  the  probable 
murderer  of  the  young  clergyman  whose  ward- 
robe I  had  seemingly  purloined.  Of  course  I 
could  walk  boldly  down-stairs  and  confess  the 
whole  thing  as  it  had  actually  occurred,  but  who 
would  believe  such  an  improbable  tale?  Besides, 
all  the  details  of  my  strange  misadventures  were 
not  clear  even  in  my  own  mind,  so  sleepy  and 
overwrought  had  I  been  at  the  time  of  their  oc- 
currence. It  might  easily  happen  that  I  would 
get  tangled  up  in  my  recital  and  contradict  my- 
self. Yet,  unless  I  could  devise  some  other 
means  of  escape,  what  else  was  there  for  me  to  do 


I  START  ON  MY  VACATION  17 

but  to  come  out  with  my  absurd  story  and  lame 
apologies  ? 

I  took  one  last,  despairing  look  out  of  the  win- 
dow before  putting  myself  in  the  hands  of  fate. 
I  was  in  a  front  room  that  overlooked  the  drive- 
way as  well  as  the  valley  and  church  from  the 
bay-window  on  the  side.  I  now  saw  that  absurd 
rustic  sign  over  the  gate,  which  had  attracted  my 
sleepy  eyes  as  I  had  looked  back  upon  it  in  driv- 
ing in : 

ROOM   GRUB 

So  it  seemed  to  announce  to  the  public  in  hospit- 
able vernacular.  In  one  respect,  at  least,  I  had 
made  no  mistake.  What  in  the  world  did  any 
one  mean  by  sticking  up  a  sign  like  that  at  the 
entrance  to  private  grounds? 

"Let  me  see,"  I  muttered,  "how  can  that  sign 
be  explained  in  keeping  with  everything  else 
about  me?  Now  that  I  was  wide  awake  it  was 
easy  enough.  There  was  something  queer  about 
those  letters.  They  had  been  turned  inside-out, 
hindside-foremost,  or  wrongside-to,  or  something, 


18  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

by  the  country  bumpkin  who  did  the  carpenter 

work.    To  my  waking  vision  the  letters  did  not 

exactly  read  ROOM  GRUB.    They  looked  more  like 

this: 


Of  course  the  letters  faced  the  street  and  were  in- 
tended to  be  read  from  the  street !  From  that  side 
the  sign  wouldn't  spell  ROOMGRUB,  or  anything 
like  it.  It  spelled: 

BURGMOOR 

I  remembered  the  newspaper  story  I  had  been 
reading  on  the  train  the  night  before,  and  the 
truth  came  over  me  in  a  flash.  I  was  an  uninvited 
guest  at  the  summer  residence  of  the  Apthorpe 
family ! 


CHAPTER  II 

PREDICAMENT 

If  I  presented  myself  to  the  Apthorpes  with 
no  better  or  more  convincing  excuses  than  those 
afforded  by  the  actual  facts  of  the  case,  I  might 
pass  the  rest  of  the  day  in  jail  and  the  remainder 
of  my  life  in  ridicule.  I  couldn't  go  to  them  and 
say:  "I  am  Basil  Plympton  of  the  New  York 
'Express.'  My  paper  is  anxious  to  get  a  repre- 
sentative inside  your  house,  but  I  am  here  by 
mistake.  A  variety  of  curious  circumstances  con- 
spired to  put  me  in  the  place  of  another  man. 
All  I  want  is  to  go  away  and  seek  for  the  minister 
whom  I  have  robbed  quite  inadvertently.  Kind- 
ly allow  me  to  depart  in  peace."  Does  any  one 
suppose  for  a  moment  that  they  would  let  me  go 
without  calling  for  the  police? 

As  the  truth  was  unbelievable,  a  story  must 
of  necessity  be  invented.  My  imagination  is  of 


20  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

the  capable  and  vivid  character  required  in  the 
newspaper  profession,  but  there  must  be  some 
basis  of  fact  upon  which  to  weave  a  fabric  of  ro- 
mance. As  it  would  not  do  to  tell  who  I  actually 
was  or  how  I  really  came  there,  I  must  personate 
some  one  else  and  provide  an  explanation  of  my 
presence  more  plausible  than  the  truth.  The  log- 
ical starting-point  was  the  personality  of  the 
young  clergyman  whom  they  expected  as  a  guest. 
When  I  found  out  who  he  was  I  might  invent 
some  excuse  for  his  absence  and  put  myself  for- 
ward as  one  delegated  by  him  to  come  in  his 
stead. 

I  turned  to  his  kit-bag  as  furnishing  a  probable 
clue,  and  dumped  its  contents  upon  the  bed. 
The  result  was  disappointing.  Collars,  shirts, 
underwear  and  the  manuscript  of  a  sermon  lay 
there  in  a  heap;  nothing  else. 

"Men  who  travel  in  a  sleeping  car  untagged 
ought  to  be  compelled  to  pay  double  fare!"  I 
ejaculated. 

I  glanced  over  the  sermon  hoping  to  find  his 
name  attached  to  it  somewhere.  It  was  full  of 


PREDICAMENT  21 

peace  and  good- will  to  man,  with  frequent  refer- 
ences to  mountain  flowers  and  purity  as  of  snow. 
I  was  in  no  mood  to  be  edified  and  thrust  it  back 
contemptuously  into  the  dominie's  grip,  wrapped 
up  in  undergarments.  Had  I  realized  what  a  use- 
ful asset  that  sermon  was  to  prove,  I  should  have 
treated  it  with  more  respect. 

I  was  up  a  tree  once  more,  and  from  force  of 
habit  sought  to  thrust  my  hands  into  the  pockets 
of  my  jacket.  They  slid  down  the  sides  of  the 
minister's  frock-coat  without  finding  any  resting- 
place.  Of  course  the  pockets  were  in  the  tail  of 
the  coat  and  of  course  the  coat-tail  pockets  were 
the  receptacle  of  all  the  young  parson's  more 
valuable  worldly  possessions.  The  object  I  drew 
forth  was  a  purse! 

It  was  a  sleek  purse  and  one  well  lined  with 
bills  of  sizable  denominations.  I  counted  them. 
One  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  was  the  figure.  It 
was  a  clear  case  of  grand  larceny.  Were  my 
troubles  never  to  stop  accumulating?  Burglary 
and  larceny  make  a  good  start,  anyhow.  My 
vacation  had  begun  under  promising  auspices. 


22  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

The  money  was  a  grievous  cross,  to  express  it 
clerically,  but  the  purse  contained  information 
which  the  valise  omitted  to  furnish,  namely  sev- 
eral cards,  inscribed  as  follows: 


REV.  CHARLES  W.  TUPPER 


West  End  Ave. 
ST.  LUKE'S  RECTORY  and  Eighty-first  St. 


Now  that  I  knew  the  name  of  the  man  whom 
the  Apthorpes  supposed  to  be  their  guest,  the 
prospects  were  a  little  more  hopeful.  To  per- 
sonate his  substitute  for  a  short  time  ought  not 
to  be  difficult  save  for  the  fact  that  such  a  substi- 
tute must,  of  necessity,  also  be  a  clergyman.  I 
could  say  that  Tupper  had  been  suddenly  taken 
ill,  that  his  grandmother  was  dead,  that  his  rector 
was  off  on  a  hunting-trip  and  could  not  spare 
him — any  one  of  a  dozen  excuses.  Then  I  could 
take  a  stroll  before  breakfast  and  disappear. 


PREDICAMENT  23 

Yes,  I  would  disappear  in  a  hurry.  The  van- 
ishing lady  in  the  circus  wouldn't  be  a  circum- 
stance to  me  when  it  came  to  that  part  of  the 
act! 

But  I  would  not  go  empty-handed.  A  man 
likely  to  be  accused  of  all  the  crimes  that  were 
piling  up  against  me  had  no  cause  to  hesitate  over 
a  little  tiling  like  appropriating  a  young  woman's 
photograph,  especially  when  he  happened  to  be 
infatuated  with  it. 

So  I  took  the  picture  of  Miss  Beatrice  Ap- 
thorpe,  for  it  could  be  no  other  than  she,  from 
its  place  on  the  bureau  and  concealed  it  against 
my  palpitating  heart. 

Would  I  pass  for  a  clergyman,  even  for  a  few 
minutes?  That  was  the  vital  question.  I  looked 
at  my  reflection  in  the  mirror,  but  the  result  was 
not  reassuring.  My  clothing  did  not  have  that 
ample  mantle  of  charity  which  covereth  all  sins. 
My  hat  was  proper,  though  I  had  let  it  roll  on  the 
floor  and  misused  it  shamefully.  It  had  to  be 
rubbed  briskly  with  a  towel  to  restore  its  sheen. 
My  frock-coat  was  unimpeachable,  my  collar 


24  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

duly  clerical;  so  far,  good.  There,  however,  the 
appropriate  ended,  and  the  deficiencies  began  to 
glare  by  contrast. 

My  vest  was  decidedly  off -color,  but  that  didn't 
show  when  the  coat  was  tightly  buttoned,  so  it 
did  not  count.  I  had  no  gloves,  and  my  hands 
were  long  and  lean.  My  necktie  was  red;  it 
should  have  been  either  white  or  black.  My  shirt 
was  striped  with  pink  when  it  should  have  been 
pure  white.  I  had  no  time  now  to  undress  again 
and  try  on  one  of  the  parson's.  My  cuffs  also 
had  lines  of  pink  in  them  to  match  the  shirt.  My 
shoes  should  have  been  high  patent-leathers. 
They  were  low  tans  with  bright  red  stockings 
peeping  over  the  tops.  All  these  sins  of  omission 
and  commission  were  sufficiently  incongruous, 
but  they  sank  into  insignificance  and  merely 
served  to  form  a  bizarre  background  to  the  utter- 
ly damning  iniquity  of  my  trousers! 

I  had  been  beguiled  into  purchasing  those  glar- 
ing white  and  brown  checks  through  the  blandish- 
ments of  a  plausible  tailor  who  had  them  in  stock 
and  recognized  me  for  an  easy  mark.  They  were 


PREDICAMENT  25 

all  the  rage  in  London  and  freshly  imported,  he 
assured  me.  Well,  they  may  have  been  all  right 
for  London,  and  might  pass  in  New  York,  but 
they  would  scarcely  do  for  a  parson,  even  when 
on  an  outing. 

Yes,  I  was  pretty  sporty  for  a  clergyman,  but 
such  I  must  be  for  a  brief  season;  and  as  my 
trousers  were  from  London,  I  considered  it  wise 
to  turn  the  rest  of  me  into  an  imported  article. 
I  would  be  an  Englishman.  That  would  not  only 
explain  to  some  extent  my  eccentric  attire;  it 
would  also  free  me  from  the  responsibility  of 
accounting  for  a  host  of  American  friends  and 
relatives  in  my  assumed  character.  Ah,  yes,  I 
would  be  English,  very  English!  I  took  for  my 
model  a  young  fellow  from  the  London  "Times" 
who  had  tried  his  luck  on  the  "Express"  in  order 
to  learn  the  methods  of  American  journalism.  He 
stood  it  for  about  a  week  and  then  returned  to 
his  native  land  in  disgust.  I  stood  before  the 
mirror  for  a  dress-rehearsal,  and  tried  to  practise 
the  "broad  a"  as  I  had  heard  him  use  it.  Just 
then  a  gong  sounded.  The  Swiss  clock  on  the 


26  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

mantle  struck  quarter  past  nine.  My  hour  had 
come! 

I  buttoned  the  clergyman's  coat  tightly  over 
my  palpitating  heart  and  my  iniquitous  vest,  and 
opened  the  door  of  the  bedroom.  With  a  dig- 
nified and  pompous  stride  I  descended  the  broad 
stairway  into  the  spacious  hall.  Then  events  fol- 
lowed in  quick  succession.  From  that  moment 
onward  I  was  in  the  hands  of  fate  and  tossed 
hither  and  thither  on  the  seas  of  chance. 

A  fine,  erect  gentleman,  of  fifty  or  upwards, 
with  silver  hair  and  mustache,  and  a  face  in  which 
pride  was  blended  with  refinement,  met  me  at  the 
foot  of  the  stairs.  "Good  morning,  Mr.  Tupper, 
welcome  to  Burgmoor,"  he  said,  extending  his 

hand. 

Before  I  had  time  to  explain  that  I  wasn't  the 
Rev.  Charles  W.  Tupper,  of  St.  Luke's  rectory, 
but  his  friend  and  substitute,  the  Rev.  Hogarth 
Applethwaite,  of  Hallam  Manor,  Devonshire,  a 
stately  lady,  arrayed  in  rustling  black  silks,  came 
forward  and  seized  my  other  hand  with: 
"Charmed  to  have  you  with  us,  Mr.  Tupper." 


PREDICAMENT  27 

A  curly-headed  little  boy  of  eight  or  nine  walked 
after  her  with  his  finger  in  his  mouth,  and  gazed 
upon  me  with  reverent  awe. 

Then  followed  all  the  rest  of  the  family.  These 
were  Mrs.  John  W.  Gosse,  nee  Miss  Apthorpe, 
and  mother  of  the  young  hopeful  with  the  suc- 
culent fist;  Mr.  John  W.  Gosse,  of  Blessom  & 
Gosse,  bankers  and  brokers,  20  Broad  Street, 
New  York  City;  and  Miss  Beatrice  Apthorpe, 
the  young  lady  of  the  whimsical  face  and  musical 
laugh,  the  bewitching  damsel  of  the  photograph. 

They  welcomed  me,  one  and  all,  as  Mr.  Tup- 
per.  There  was  no  chance  for  that  contemplated 
stroll  before  breakfast,  and  the  vanishing  act  I 
had  planned  to  execute.  I  had  delayed  so  long 
rehearsing  the  part  of  the  ultra-English  clergy- 
man that  breakfast  was  already  on  the  table  when 
I  came  down.  The  worst  of  it  was  that  no  one 
seemed  to  have  any  suspicion  that  I  wasn't  Tup- 
per.  Every  one  in  the  family  so  addressed  me  in 
turn.  Apparently  none  of  them  knew  their  guest 
by  sight.  I  had  stepped  into  his  shoes  and  they 
fitted  exactly. 


28  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

I  hadn't  figured  on  this  at  all.  I  was  all 
screwed  up  to  the  part  of  the  Rev.  Hogarth  Ap- 
plethwaite,  of  Hallam  Manor,  Devonshire.  To 
be  obliged  to  fall  back  upon  plain,  unaccented 
Charles  Tupper,  of  St.  Luke's  rectory,  was  a 
bit  of  a  come-down. 

Moreover,  it  defied  all  the  laws  of  the  drama. 
It  was  just  as  though  Henry  Irving  entered 
"right  center"  as  King  Lear,  to  discover  the  stage 
all  set  for  the  balcony  scene  in  "Romeo  and 
Juliet."  In  that  event  the  curtain  would  be  rung 
down  and  the  scenes  shifted.  Nothing  of  the  sort 
was  possible  in  my  case.  I  had  to  play  the  part 
assigned  me. 

The  Rev.  Hogarth  Applethwaite  was  never  to 
appear  on  any  stage.  His  "broad  a"  and  his 
pompous  stride  must  go  with  him.  The  trouble 
was,  his  red  necktie,  his  striped  shirt,  his  low  tan 
shoes,  his  bright  red  stockings  and  his  impossible 
trousers  remained. 

We  all  sat  down  to  the  breakfast-table.  I  had 
to  do  it;  there  was  no  other  course  possible. 
Then  followed  an  ominous  pause.  What  was  the 


PREDICAMENT  29 

matter?  The  servants  stood  about  us  motionless. 
I  looked  around  to  perceive  that  all  present  were 
stiff  and  queer.  Mrs.  Gosse  gazed  heavenward; 
Mr.  Gosse  examined  his  plate  with  absorbing  in- 
terest ;  Master  Gosse  stopped  staring  at  me  long 
enough  to  stare  at  each  of  the  others  in  turn. 
Mrs.  Apthorpe  smiled  upon  me  benignly,  but 
with  a  far-off  gaze,  as  though  I  were  floating 
somewhere  in  the  realms  of  space,  as  indeed  I 
wished  I  were.  Miss  Beatrice  Apthorpe  looked 
out  of  the  window. 

Then  Mr.  Apthorpe  shaded  his  eyes  with  two 
fingers  and  said:  "Mr.  Tupper?" 

The  awful  truth  dawned  upon  me  at  last. 
They  were  waiting  for  me  to  say  grace !  I  bowed 
my  head,  but  not  with  reverence.  I  am  glad  to 
confess  I  had  the  grace  to  be  ashamed.  But  that 
was  the  only  kind  of  grace  vouchsafed  me.  My 
face  I  knew  to  be  the  color  of  boiled  lobster. 

"Mamma,  he's  cryin',"  I  heard  Master  Gosse 
whisper  to  Mrs.  Gosse. 

In  vain  I  strove  to  rise  to  the  occasion  and 
think  of  some  simple  form  of  prayer.  "Now  I 


30  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

lay  me  down  to  sleep,"  would  not  do  at  that  early 
hour  in  the  morning.  Besides,  I  had  done  enough 
in  that  line  to  last  for  one  while.  "Twinkle, 
twinkle,  little  star,"  was  open  to  the  same  objec- 
tion. "Little  drops  of  water"  were  falling,  but  I 
was  averse  to  advertising  them. 

After  an  awful  two  minutes  of  oppressive 
silence,  Mrs.  Gosse  removed  her  eyes  from  the 
ceiling.  Miss  Beatrice  lost  her  interest  in  the 
distant  landscape.  Mr.  Apthorpe  removed 
his  eye-shade  and  Master  Gosse  observed  with 
gravity:  "Mamma,  God's  had  his  breakfast  and 
I  want  mine." 

"A  silent  grace  is  always  so  much  more  im- 
pressive than  any  spoken  words,"  said  Mrs.  Ap- 
thorpe to  me.  "I  was  much  moved,  Mr.  Tup- 
per,  by  the  devotional  atmosphere  which  seems 
to  surround  you.  I  know  some  sweetly  solemn 
thought  possessed  you,  for  you  made  me  feel  it." 

I  caught  the  eye  of  Miss  Beatrice.  How  shall 
I  ever  describe  the  roguish  commiseration  of  that 
glance? 

Then  followed  the  clatter  of  knives  and  forks 


PREDICAMENT  31 

and  the  bustle  of  servants,  the  odor  of  steak  and 
baked  potatoes  and  the  aroma  of  coffee.  As  I 
fortified  the  inner  man  I  began  to  take  a  more 
cheerful  view  of  the  situation.  If  I  could  only 
last  for  half  an  hour  or  so  I  could  easily  get  away. 

"Mr.  Tupper,"  demanded  Master  Howard 
Gosse,  "can  God  make  a  five-year-old  dog  in  five 
minutes?" 

"Hush,  Howard,"  said  his  mother. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  INQUISITION 

I  shall  never  forget  that  breakfast  for  a  num- 
ber of  reasons.  I  ate  it  in  the  odor  of  sanctity, 
with  my  sinful  trousers  under  the  table.  It  was 
a  good  breakfast,  well  cooked,  well  seasoned  and 
well  served;  and  I  fell  upon  it  with  the  proverbial 
appetite  of  my  new  calling.  I  felt  like  a  parson 
and  I  ate  like  one.  Barring  the  slight  indiscre- 
tion of  a  red  necktie  and  a  striped  shirt,  which 
didn't  show  much,  the  upper  part  of  me  was 
dressed  like  one.  If  I  could  fetch  up  at  the  end 
of  the  race  with  the  nether  portions  of  my 
anatomy  still  concealed  as  securely  from  view,  the 
Rev.  Charles  W.  Tupper  himself  could  not  com- 
plain of  my  appearance  or  demeanour. 

The  windows  were  wide  open  and  the  air  that 
flooded  the  room  was  fresh  and  invigorating. 
Even  though  I  was  in  a  predicament,  I  began 
to  enjoy  the  full  benefits  of  my  vacation.  It 


THE  INQUISITION  83 

wasn't  so  bad,  they  all  treated  me  with  such  def- 
erence. They  hung  upon  my  opinions  as  though 
I  were  Moses  with  a  fresh  tablet  of  command- 
ments. "A  minister's  couch  is  surely  strewn  with 
roses,"  I  thought. 

Then  there  came  a  bolt  from  out  the  blue  that 
brought  me  up  with  a  round  turn. 

"Do  tell  us,  Mr.  Tupper,  what  your  text  is  to 
be,"  said  Miss  Beatrice  Apthorpe,  her  arched  eye- 
brow raising  itself  and  the  droll  corner  of  her 
mouth  twitching  almost  imperceptibly. 

"My  text?"  I  asked,  fairly  puzzled. 

"Yes,  the  text  of  the  sermon,  you  know;  or  do 
you  preach  without  one,  after  the  new  fashion?" 

"The  sermon?"  I  gasped. 

"Of  course,  what  else?  Didn't  you  know  you 
were  to  preach  this  morning?" 

I  didn't.  The  possibility  that  a  church  service 
and  a  sermon  were  on  the  program  prepared  for 
the  Rev.  Charles  W.  Tupper  had  never  entered 
my  unclerical  head.  It  was  a  case  of  vacating  in 
short  order  or  the  last  state  of  that  man  would 
be  worse  than  the  first. 


34  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

"All  Greenford  is  anticipating  a  real  sermon," 
continued  the  girl,  with  intense  mischief  in  her 
eyes.  "The  people  here  have  to  get  along  with  a 
lay-reader  nine  months  in  the  year,  you  know. 
Now  Burgmoor  has  been  built,  papa  will  change 
aU  that." 

"Do  not  be  alarmed,  there  is  plenty  of  time," 
said  Mrs.  Apthorpe  soothingly,  as  I  looked  at 
my  watch  to  conceal  my  dismay.  "The  country 
people  have  so  far  to  come  we  do  not  begin  service 
until  quarter  past  eleven." 

I  recovered  my  self-possession.  It  was  only 
half  past  nine.  It  would  be  very  hard  luck  if  I 
could  not  find  some  way  out  of  the  trap  before 
church  time.  Meanwhile  there  was  no  use  worry- 
ing. If  worst  came  to  worst  there  was  a  sermon 
all  ready  in  the  parson's  grip  up-stairs.  I  very 
much  feared  the  good  people  of  Greenford  would 
have  to  make  their  lay-reader  read  his  lays  one 
more  Sunday,  despite  the  laudable  efforts  of  the 
Apthorpe  family  to  supply  the  pulpit. 

"But  can't  you  tell  what  the  sermon  will  be 
about,"  persisted  Miss  Apthorpe,  bound  to  worry 


THE  INQUISITION  35 

me  all  she  could.  What  was  she  up  to,  anyway? 
Did  she  know  I  wasn't  Tupper?  It  looked  like 
it.  Did  she  know  who  I,  in  fact,  was  ?  That  was 
not  so  probable.  If  she  did,  then  surely  there 
were  breakers  ahead.  Owing  to  my  connection 
with  a  New  York  newspaper  I  would  be  sus- 
pected of  invading  Burgmoor  for  journalistic 
purposes. 

"It  will  be  very  simple,"  I  smiled.  "I  believe 
in  the  old-fashioned  gospel  discourse.  No  timely 
topics  from  the  pulpit,  if  you  please."  The  sen- 
timent was  conservative  and  served  to  head  off 
the  young  lady's  curiosity,  but  it  burned  a  lot 
of  bridges  behind  me  at  the  same  time. 

Master  Howard  Gosse,  whose  mother  had  re- 
strained him  up  to  this  point,  now  broke  loose 
and  began  to  catechise. 

"Is  God  everywhere,  Mr.  Tupper?"  he  asked 
solemnly. 

"Yes,  my  lad."    I  beamed  graciously. 

"Is  he  out  in  the  kitchen  with  the  cook?" 

"Surely.  He  is  the  greatest  democrat  of 
all." 


36  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

"And  under  the  table?" 

I  drew  in  my  legs  convulsively,  but  replied 
with  due  dignity:  "Everywhere,  my  boy,  means 
in  all  places  at  once." 

"Then  is  God  in  heaven?" 

"Certainly,  with  all  his  little  cherubs  and  an- 
gels." 

"And  in  hell  with  all  the  little  demons  and 
devils?" 

I  was  stumped,  as  I  deserved  to  be,  and  re- 
mained discreetly  silent.  Master  Howard  knew 
he  had  me  foul  and  expected  no  reply. 

"Hush,  Howard,"  said  his  mother. 

"He  will  learn.  He  is  a  bright  child,  Mrs. 
Gosse,"  I  said.  It  was  tempting  providence; 
Master  Howard  was  encouraged  to  come  at  me 
again. 

"Mr.  Tupper,"  he  said,  "a  bad  dog  bit  my  leg 
last  week.  Where  will  he  go  when  he  dies?" 

"Dogs  have  no  souls,  my  child.  He  won't  go 
anywhere.  He  will  just  die." 

"But  when  a  bad  man  dies  he  goes  to  hell  and 
is  burned  in  eternal  torments.  Couldn't  God 


THE  INQUISITION  37 

send  that  bad  doggie  there,  too?"  persisted  the 
young  theologian. 

I  saw  some  terrible  clincher  was  coming  again, 
so  I  waived  the  child  aside  with:  "I'll  tell  you 
all  about  these  things  in  the  sermon,  my  lad." 

But  that  didn't  satisfy  him  a  bit.  As  soon  as 
a  pause  in  the  general  conversation  gave  him  an- 
other chance  he  was  up  and  at  me  again  with: 
"Say,  Mr.  Tupper,  if  a  cow  eats  grass  will  she 
give  milk?" 

I  was  learning  that  it  was  unsafe  to  give  un- 
qualified assent  to  the  most  obvious  proposition, 
when  dealing  with  this  youngster,  so  I  replied 
guardedly,  "I  have  been  told  so." 

"If  I  eat  grass  will  I  give  milk  like  a  cow?" 

"Probably  not,"  I  ventured,  with  great  cau- 
tion. It  seemed  a  perfectly  safe  assertion. 

"Why  won't  I?"  he  demanded. 

I  couldn't  tell  and  so  was  floored  again. 

The  family  all  laughed  and  I  joined  in  the 
mirth,  but  preserved  a  due  solemnity  the  while. 
I  couldn't  treat  them  to  a  good  round  guffaw. 
The  privileges  of  the  clergy  have  their  limita- 


38  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

tions.  You  have  to  be  so  very  careful  and  to 
answer  so  many  fool  questions,  from  adults  as 
well  as  from  children,  that  it  isn't  such  a  rose-bed 
after  all. 

"Beatrice,  Mr.  Fielding  will  be  here  by  the 
one  o'clock  train.  Don't  you  want  to  drive  down 
and  meet  him?"  asked  her  father. 

"I — I  would  rather  be  excused,  papa,"  faltered 
the  girl,  blushing  and  then  turning  very  pale. 

"As  you  probably  know,  Mr.  Tupper,"  ex- 
plained Mr.  Apthorpe,  "Mr.  Fielding  is  my 
daughter's  fiance.  As  you  are  also  aware,  they 
are  to  be  married  very  quietly  here  and  to  sail  for 
Europe  this  week." 

"I  have  heard  something  of  it,"  I  ventured. 

"We  had  thought  of  requesting  you  to  of- 
ficiate," he  continued. 

"I  shall  be  most  pleased,"  I  asserted.  "When 
will  you  require  my  services?" 

"Beatrice  has  decided  upon  to-morrow  noon  as 
an  appropriate  hour.  Eh,  my  girl?" 

"As  you  please,  father,"  she  murmured,  fixing 
her  eyes  upon  her  plate  with  a  peculiar  expres- 


THE  INQUISITION  39 

sion.  Could  it  be  possible — were  they  filled  with 
tears?  Had  I  caught  a  look  of  utter  despair  in 
her  face,  or  was  it  merely  my  vivid  imagination 
and  my  tendency  to  find  the  sensational  lurking 
amid  the  commonplace  things  of  life?  I  might 
be  mistaken  about  it,  but  she  did  not  look  to  me 
like  a  happy  bride. 

A  pause  of  general  embarrassment  followed 
Apthorpe's  reference  to  his  daughter's  approach- 
ing marriage.  It  had  evidently  thrown  a  wet 
blanket  upon  the  whole  company.  Why?  Clearly 
there  was  some  mystery  here. 

Weddings  are  in  some  respects  sad  affairs. 
Old  ties  are  broken  and  new  ones  formed,  and 
the  parents  are  apt  to  feel  lonely  and  desolate. 
Nevertheless  a  happy  bride  does  not  usually  hail 
the  thought  of  her  future  husband's  coming  with 
tears,  or  shrink  from  meeting  him  at  the  depot. 
Nor  do  society  girls  ordinarily  select  such  a 
secluded  retreat  for  their  nuptials  and  omit  all 
the  customary  festivities  from  mere  caprice. 

Mystery  or  no  mystery,  however,  I  was  in  no 
position  to  probe  it  at  present.  Just  then  I  had 


40  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

all  I  could  do,  or  a  little  more,  to  attend  to  my 
own  affairs  without  prying  into  those  of 
others. 

Evidently  partaking  of  the  embarrassment, 
Apthorpe  sought  to  create  a  diversion  by  asking 
me  how  the  bishop  was. 

"Kindly  and  genial  as  ever,  but  growing  a  lit- 
tle childish,"  I  said. 

"Childish?  He  never  struck  me  so.  He  is 
only  fifty-five." 

Why  couldn't  I  have  left  off  that  touch!  I 
thought  all  bishops  were  aged.  "His  heart  is 
as  young  and  his  goodness  as  simple  as  a 
child's,"  I  explained.  It  was  a  silly  crawl,  but 
it  was  the  best  I  could  do  and  had  to  go. 

"What  are  the  trustees  of  St.  Luke's  finally 
going  to  do  about  the  Brownlee  bequest,  after  all 
the  fuss?"  asked  Mr.  Gosse. 

This  was  a  poser,  but  I  had  to  keep  the  ball 
rolling,  so  I  made  a  lucky  guess:  "Keep  it,  of 
course." 

"Then  you  do  not  disapprove  of  tainted 
money?" 


THE  INQUISITION  41 

"All  money  is  more  or  less  tainted,"  I  replied, 
"but  the  chief  trouble  with  it  is,  'tain't  mine  and 
'tain't  yours." 

I  was  sorry  the  moment  I  let  that  speech  slip. 
It  was  right  off  the  roof -garden,  and  smelled  of 
beer  and  sausages.  They  all  laughed,  however, 
though  they  probably  had  all  heard  it  half  a 
dozen  times,  for  they  were  all  New  Yorkers.  I 
had  yet  to  learn  that  any  joke  is  new,  any  joke 
is  sanctified,  so  long  as  a  minister  stands  sponsor 
for  it. 

But  though  I  had  done  fairly  well  so  far  the 
ice  was  very  thin,  and  I  might  take  a  cold  plunge 
at  any  moment. 

"We  have  so  many  mutual  acquaintances  it  is 
strange  we  have  never  met  before,"  observed  Mr. 
Gosse. 

"It  is  rather  strange,"  I  assented. 

"Not  so  peculiar  when  you  remember  that  Mr. 
T upper  always  lived  near  Boston  and  was  only 
recently  transferred  to  Bishop  Porter's  diocese," 
said  Mrs.  Apthorpe.  "I  noticed  your  New  Eng- 
land 'broad  a,'  Mr.  Tupper,  when  you  first  came 


42  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

down,  but  you  dropped  it  as  soon  as  you  began  to 
feel  at  home." 

So  the  Rev.  Hogarth  Applethwaite  had  stood 
me  in  good  stead,  after  all!  Having  crawled 
through  so  far  I  began  to  feel  easy  once  more; 
but  now  I  received  another  shock  that  sent  a  cold 
chill  down  my  spine. 

"But  you  forget,  my  dear  brother-in-law,"  an- 
nounced Miss  Beatrice  Apthorpe,  "that  Mr. 
Tupper  and  I  met  frequently  at  Bath  Beach  last 
summer  I" 

I  started,  and  upset  a  cup  of  coffee.  The 
servants  bustled  about  with  fresh  napkins  and 
cleaned  up  the  mess.  Under  cover  of  the  con- 
fusion I  regained  my  composure  somewhat.  I 
had  thought  she  rather  suspected  me  of  being  in 
the  wrong  pew.  But  suspicion  is  one  thing,  abso- 
lute knowledge  quite  another.  What  story  could 
I  tell  her?  There  was  no  time  now  for  elaborate 
and  ornate  invention,  and  I  left  it  to  the  inspira- 
tion of  the  moment.  I  was  sure  she  wouldn't 
swallow  that  Englishman,  however.  I  wished 
now  that  I  had  stuck  to  those  "broad  a's." 


THE  INQUISITION  43 

"I  have  read  your  poems  in  the  'Churchman'; 
they  are  full  of  graceful  metaphor,"  said  Mrs. 
Gosse. 

"What  are  they  about?"  asked  her  husband. 

I  made  another  three-bagger,  as  the  sermon  in 
the  grip  upstairs  flashed  upon  my  memory. 
"  'Beautiful  Snow'  and  'Mountain  Daisies'  are 
my  latest  efforts,"  I  said. 

"I  have  read  them  both!"  cried  Mrs.  Gosse. 

Miss  Apthorpe  bestowed  upon  me  a  glance  of 
bewildered  admiration.  I  had  almost  shaken  her 
faith  in  the  evidence  of  her  own  senses  by  that 
last  hit.  I  could  see  that  she  was  half  wondering 
if  I  wasn't  Tupper,  after  all,  or  his  twin  brother, 
perhaps.  But  my  triumph  was  short-lived.  In 
another  moment  I  was  on  thin  ice  once  more. 

"By  the  way,  ah — the  Rev. —  Oh,  bother, 
what  is  the  name  of  your  rector?"  asked  Ap- 
thorpe. 

A  false  reply  meant  instant  exposure.  I  did 
not  know  the  true  one,  and  it  was  no  use  saying 
he  was  dead.  While  I  was  hesitating  I  could  see 
that  Miss  Apthorpe  was  watching  me  closely, 


44  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

and  I  made  bold  to  give  her  a  look  of  supplicat- 
ing appeal. 

"Why,  papa,  you  do  not  mean  to  say  you  have 
forgotten  the  Rev.  Dr.  Beacham?" 

She  had  saved  me!  What  was  her  game? 
She  had  lent  a  hand  in  keeping  me  dancing  on  a 
hot  griddle  until  I  was  nearly  done  brown;  but 
now  that  there  was  danger  of  my  jumping  out  of 
the  frying-pan  into  the  fire  she  had  deftly  inter- 
fered to  save  the  day. 

The  grilling  went  on  for  some  minutes  longer; 
but  I  had  stopped  worrying.  Whenever  I  was 
in  the  least  doubt  I  would  hesitate  and  glance  at 
Beatrice  Apthorpe.  She  would  at  once  respond 
with  the  necessary  prompting,  displaying  the 
while  a  plausibility,  resource  and  ready  wit  I 
could  not  but  admire.  Moreover,  she  seemed  to 
take  a  keen  enjoyment  in  assisting  me  to  carry 
on  the  imposture.  Several  times  when  I  might 
have  blundered  through,  unassisted,  I  made  no 
effort,  but  left  the  laboring  oar  to  her  while  I 
studied  her  moves. 

She  had  the  game  right  in  her  hands.     The 


THE  INQUISITION  45 

others  made  no  difference  now,  but  she  was  a 
riddle  I  would  have  to  solve  unless  I  could  make 
good  my  escape  within  the  next  half -hour.  She 
was  a  bright  one,  a  deep  one,  and  her  eyes  shone 
with  mischief .  What  sort  of  mischief?  That  was 
the  problem. 

She  was  capable  of  leading  me  on  into  the 
worst  sort  of  a  mess  from  pure  high  spirits.  But 
there  was  more  to  it  than  that.  Some  hidden  pur- 
pose had  clearly  actuated  her  from  the  very  first. 

Why  had  she  addressed  me  as  Mr.  Tupper  in- 
stead of  exposing  me  the  moment  I  came  down  to 
breakfast?  Why,  in  the  name  of  common-sense, 
had  she  not  given  me  a  chance  to  explain  things ; 
make  a  fool  of  myself,  to  be  sure,  but  still  a  much 
decenter  sort  of  a  fool  than  the  rank  impostor  I 
had  now  become? 

This  girl's  character  was  evidently  as  indi- 
vidual as  her  face,  and  the  mystery  of  her  engage- 
ment to  the  actor  and  her  aversion  to  the  impend- 
ing marriage  lent  spice  to  the  problem.  I  must 
get  out  and  get  out  soon;  that  was  the  best  and 
safest  solution.  If  I  could  only  see  half  a  chance 


46  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

to  bolt  I  wouldn't  wait  for  any  explanation  with 
the  young  lady.  She  was  altogether  too  dan- 
gerous. 

As  we  arose  from  the  breakfast-table  I  mum- 
bled an  excuse  about  being  obliged  to  look  over 
my  sermon,  and  retreated  to  my  room. 


CHAPTER  IV 

BEATRICE 

Save  for  the  mysterious  clemency  of  Beatrice 
Apthorpe  I  would  now  be  exposed,  and  perhaps 
in  the  hands  of  the  law.  This  was  the  thought 
that  forced  itself  upon  me  as  I  reentered  my 
room,  no  nearer  escape  from  my  embarrassing 
situation  than  when  I  left  it. 

To  be  sure,  I  had  learned  a  few  facts  which 
would  be  very  useful  in  an  article  for  the  'Ex- 
press," and  was  on  the  track  of  a  myste-  /  which 
could  be  probed  from  a  safe  distance  with  fair 
promise  of  result.  Had  I  planned  the  whole 
thing  I  could  not  have  been  more  successful  from 
a  newspaper  point  of  view.  I  knew  the  hour  of 
the  proposed  marriage  and  some  of  the  sig- 
nificant facts  concerning  its  mysterious  privacy. 
The  rest  I  hoped  to  be  able  to  ascertain.  I  had 
material  for  a  full  description  of  the  summer 


48  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

palace  and  its  surrounding  gardens.  I  had  a 
picture  of  the  bride.  It  was  all  exclusive  stuff, 
too — a  clean  scoop  on  every  other  paper  in  New 
York  City.  While  I  was  now  a  dramatic  and 
musical  critic,  and  had  dropped  out  of  all  other 
lines  of  work,  I  was  of  course  alert  to  the  possi- 
bilities of  such  a  story  for  my  paper.  I  had 
landed  scoops  before,  and  I  could  turn  the  trick 
again. 

As  the  thought  of  what  would  happen  to  me 
if  I  was  caught  began  to  loom  large  before  my 
mind's  eye,  I  felt  in  the  tail  pocket  of  the  clergy- 
man's coat  for  a  handkerchief  wherewith  to  mop 
my  perspiring  brow  and  polish  up  my  wits. 

In  plac  of  that  useful  and  necessary  article  I 
drew  fort  i  a  letter,  which  in  my  haste  I  must 
have  overlooked  before,  when  I  purloined  the 
dominie's  purse.  It  was  addressed : 

Rev.  Charles  W.  Tupper, 

St.  Luke's  Rectory, 
West  End  Ave.  and  81st  St., 
New  York  City. 


BEATRICE  49 

The  hand  was  feminine;  moreover,  I  recog- 
nized it  at  a  glance.  It  was  from  the  unknown 
authoress  of  the  play! 

Yes,  I  held  in  my  hands  a  note  to  the  young 
clergyman  written  by  the  girl  who  had  conceived 
and  executed  that  charming  comedy,  "Diamonds 
Lead,  but  Hearts  are  Trumps,"  which  the  ablest 
manager  and  the  most  competent  critics  of  the 
metropolis  pronounced  a  success  beforehand. 

How  did  the  young  minister  come  to  know 
such  a  woman?  Who  was  she?  My  curiosity 
in  this  regard  proved  too  strong  for  my 
scruples.  I  was  in  a  tight  place  and  bound  to 
use  anything  that  fell  into  my  hands  which  might 
throw  any  light  on  the  problem.  The  seal  of  the 
envelope  was  broken.  I  drew  out  the  enclosed 
note  and  read  it.  The  knowledge  I  thus  acquired 
was  to  stand  me  in  good  stead.  The  letter  was 

as  follows: 

BURGMOOR. 

Greenford,  July  12, 1908. 
My  Dear  Mr.  Tupper : 

I  know  you  will  be  surprised  at  my  venturing 


50  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

to  address  you  upon  such  slight  acquaintance; 
and  more  surprised  still  at  the  favor  I  am  going 
to  ask.  I  cannot  explain  myself,  and  yet  I  know 
you  will  do  what  I  request  and  take  me  on  faith. 

You  will  be  offered  the  church  here  for  the 
summer.  My  father,  who  heard  of  you  in  New 
York,  has  arranged  with  the  bishop  of  this  dio- 
cese to  have  you  come  here.  He  will  invite  you 
to  become  a  guest  at  Burgmoor.  If  you  have  any 
regard  for  me,  if  you  mean  a  word  you  have  said 
to  me,  do  not  come!  No  matter  how  fair  the 
prospect  may  seem,  it  can  bring  you  nothing  but 
embarrassment  and  bitter  regret — me  nothing 
but  lifelong  misery. 

If  I  can  I  will  make  everything  clear  to  you 
when  we  return  to  New  York.  For  the  present 
my  lips  are  sealed. 

Do  not  disregard  this  warning,  this  appeal.  I 
have  every  confidence  in  your  generosity  and 
trust  you  to  burn  this  letter. 

Sincerely  your  friend, 

BEATRICE  APTHOEPE. 


BEATRICE  51 

Was  it  possible?  This  young  girl  the  writer 
of  a  play  which  would  shortly  make  her  famous  ? 
That  was  the  first  thing  the  letter  brought  home 
to  me.  Yes,  she  had  the  originality,  the  clever- 
ness and  the  wit.  Moreover,  the  handwriting  was 
identical  beyond  question.  To  make  sure  I 
sought  for  the  manuscript.  The  young  parson 
had  it !  I  was  in  possession  of  his  sermon ;  but  he 
had  walked  off  with  my  play — Carl  Krull's  play, 
Beatrice  Apthorpe's  play. 

Well,  it  would  be  returned  to  me  sooner  or 
later.  The  young  minister  had  doubtless  been 
aroused  by  the  porter  as  the  passenger  for  Hill- 
town.  It  was  only  twenty  miles  away ;  he  would 
doubtless  be  back  by  the  first  morning  train. 

I  consulted  the  time-table  with  feverish  haste. 
Strangely  enough,  the  danger  from  this  quarter 
occurred  to  me  for  the  first  time.  Yes,  there  was 
a  train,  both  daily  and  Sunday,  that  left  Hill- 
town  at  nine  fifty-five  and  reached  Greenford  at 
ten  minutes  of  eleven. 

I  looked  at  my  watch ;  it  was  nearly  half  past 
ten.  If  I  could  give  the  Apthorpes  the  slip  I 


52  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

could  make  the  two  miles  to  the  station  with  ease, 
as  it  was  down-hill  all  the  way.  I  could  meet  the 
parson  at  the  train,  change  hats,  coats  and  grips 
with  him  again  and  escape  from  Greenford  by 
the  same  train  that  brought  him. 

The  dominie  would  have  just  time  to  reach  the 
church  and  preach  his  sermon.  The  Apthorpes 
would  know  nothing  of  the  shift  until  the  young 
minister  came  in  with  the  processional.  When 
he  then  appeared  he  would  create  something  of  a 
sensation  in  that  select  family  circle,  no  doubt, 
and  would  have  some  pretty  clever  explaining  to 
do  for  a  while,  after  church.  Of  course  I  would 
tell  him  nothing,  for  he  might  insist  upon  my 
remaining  to  help  him  make  matters  clear,  which 
would  be  inconvenient  for  me. 

I  was  not  at  all  sorry  for  him.  He  deserved 
to  have  a  little  trouble  after  all  the  worry  he  had 
given  me.  Besides,  if  he  had  any  decency  he 
would  never  have  come  to  Greenford  at  all.  I 
glanced  the  letter  over  again.  Yes,  the  man  who 
would  come  to  Burgmoor  after  that  appeal  was  a 
brute.  I  forgot  the  enormity  of  my  own  sins  in 


BEATRICE  53 

the  contemplation  of  those  of  the  Rev.  Charles 
W.  Tupper.  He  was  beneath  contempt,  I  then 
thought. 

If  I  could  have  done  it  safely,  I  would  have 
prevented  his  return.  As  I  could  not,  there  was 
nothing  for  it  but  to  swap  identities  once  more 
and  resume  my  own  name  and  vocation.  When 
it  was  all  over  I  didn't  plan  to  give  up  journalism 
and  study  for  the  ministry. 

There  was  no  time  for  further  cogitation.  If 
I  was  to  meet  the  clergyman  at  the  Greenford 
station  it  behooved  me  to  start.  On  returning  to 
my  room  after  breakfast  I  had  taken  my  bearings 
a  bit,  and  had  an  idea  there  was  likely  to  be  a  way 
of  escape  down  the  back  stairs. 

The  hall  upon  which  my  bedroom  opened  ex- 
tended through  to  the  rear  of  the  house.  It  of- 
fered the  most  feasible  mode  of  exit.  There  must 
be  a  back  stairway  and  a  rear  door.  Thence  it 
should  not  be  difficult  to  find  a  way  through  the 
gardens  and  into  the  fields  beyond.  Once  there 
I  could  strike  across  lots  for  the  road,  and  reach 
the  station  in  a  short  time. 


54  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

So  I  took  my  clerical  friend's  grip,  opened  the 
door,  and  stole  along  the  hall.  I  found  the  back 
stairs,  descended  them  stealthily,  and  made  my 
way  to  the  rear  door  of  the  house.  I  had  met  no 
one,  and  the  path  to  the  garden  lay  before  me. 

As  I  turned  the  corner  of  the  hedge  I  ran 
plump  into  a  man  whom  I  took  to  be  the  gar- 
dener. He  had  no  suspicion,  but  greeted  me 
with:  "The  top  of  the  mornin',  sir,"  and  touched 
his  hat. 

"I  want  to  take  a  stroll  through  the  hills  and 
find  a  roundabout  way  to  church,"  I  explained. 
"Is  there  a  back  gate  to  the  garden?  Does  it 
lead  anywhere?" 

"Oh,  yes,  sir,"  he  replied  with  the  utmost  re- 
spect. "The  path  yonder  through  the  bushes  leads 
directly  to  the  gate,  and  the  bridle-path  winds 
among  the  hills  to  a  point  a  short  distance  below 
the  church." 

I  followed  his  directions  at  a  quick  pace,  though 
they  were  not  just  what  I  wanted.  I  was  bound 
for  the  station,  not  the  church.  It  was  not  likely 
that  any  of  the  family  had  seen  me  enter  the  gar- 


BEATRICE  55 

den,  and  I  was  now  concealed  from  the  house  by 
a  mass  of  trees  and  shrubbery.  The  place  was 
abloom  with  roses  of  all  colors  and  varieties. 
Flowering  plants  of  every  description  filled  the 
air  with  the  most  delicate  blends  of  perfume. 
Paths  wound  in  and  out  among  them,  and  there 
were  many  nooks  and  arbors  of  romantic  seclu- 
sion and  attractive  shade.  Had  I  been  an  invited 
guest  at  Burgmoor  I  should  have  been  delighted 
to  loiter  there  for  hours. 

As  I  finally  made  my  way  to  the  gate  and  pre- 
pared to  scamper  for  the  station  to  make  up  for 
the  time  I  had  lost  in  enjoying  the  beauties  of 
the  garden,  my  heart  jumped  into  my  mouth. 
There,  sitting  upon  a  bench  by  the  gateway,  smil- 
ing and  apparently  waiting  for  me,  was  Miss 
Beatrice  Apthorpe!  She  rose  to  greet  me,  say- 
ing: "I  though  you  would  probably  take  this 
way  to  church,  Mr.  Tupper." 

She  still  called  me  Tupper.  She  still  insisted 
upon  my  identity  with  her  correspondent  of  St. 
Luke's  rectory  and  her  friend  of  Bath  Beach. 
She  knew  better;  there  was  no  doubt  of  that. 


56  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

For  some  reason,  some  powerful  reason,  she  did 
not  propose  to  acknowledge  it.  It  was  clear  that 
before  I  could  escape  I  should  have  to  read  her 
riddle. 

As  she  arched  her  right  eyebrow  and  looked 
up  at  me  under  veiled  lashes  with  those  roguish 
eyes  of  hers  she  seemed  to  be  saying:  "Riddle 
me,  riddle  me,  ree,  a  hundred  eyes  and  cannot 
see!" 

Even  in  the  midst  of  my  dilemma  I  looked 
upon  the  youthful  playwright  with  intense  curi- 
osity. It  was  easy  enough  to  imagine  how  she 
had  come  to  know  Harry  Fielding.  The  leading 
part  in  her  comedy  was  exactly  adapted  to  his 
style,  and  he  would  necessarily  make  a  hit  in 
such  a  role.  But  that  offered  no  explanation  of 
her  apparent  unwillingness  to  become  his  wife 
on  the  very  eve  of  the  wedding. 

As  I  stood  there,  grip  in  hand,  staring  at  her 
in  surprise,  she  laid  a  little  hand  on  my  sleeve  and 
said,  with  a  childlike  simplicity :  "You  don't  look 
pleased  to  see  me,  Mr.  Tupper.  I  have  been 
waiting  here  for  you  for  fifteen  minutes.  Do 


BEATRICE  57 

you  wish  to  be  alone?  Would  you  prefer  to  have 
me  go  away?" 

When  girls  look  most  innocent  they  are  usually 
up  to  the  biggest  mischief.  Of  course  I  could  not 
be  a  brute  and  tell  her  that  she  was  the  last  per- 
son I  wished  to  meet  at  that  particular  time.  I 
came  as  near  saying  it  as  I  dared,  though.  "I  am 
rather  shaky  on  the  sermon,"  I  replied.  "I 
thought  I'd  take  a  short  walk  through  the  hills 
and  con  it  over  a  bit." 

"Oh,  any  old  sermon  will  do  for  us  here!"  She 
laughed.  "You  must  have  one  already  written 
in  your  bag.  All  you  will  have  to  do  is  to  read  it." 

"I  never  read  my  sermons ;  that  is  a  lazy  man's 
way  of  doing  things,"  I  was  forced  to  reply. 

"You  need  a  rest,"  she  persisted.  "Everything 
will  be  made  easy  for  you.  Mr.  Dobbs,  the  lay- 
reader,  will  conduct  the  service,  say  the  prayers 
and  all  that.  All  you  will  have  to  do  is  to  im- 
press people  with  your  appearance  and  read  the 
sermon." 

The  mischievous  minx  was  actually  persuading 
me,  in  a  left-handed  sort  of  fashion,  to  stay  and 


58  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

face  it  out.  She  seemed  anxious  for  me  to  com- 
mit all  sorts  of  sacrilege  merely  to  gratify  her 
whims  and  afford  her  amusement.  So  it  seemed 
on  the  surface  of  things.  But  my  eyes  had  been 
opened  through  reading  that  letter  to  the  real 
Tupper.  The  bright  little  authoress  had  got  into 
a  bad  box  of  some  sort,  with  all  her  cleverness. 

For  some  reason  she  was  desperately  anxious 
to  keep  Tupper  out  of  Burgmoor  and  equally 
eager  to  have  me  remain.  In  this  I  should  have 
been  glad  to  accommodate  her,  provided  Tupper 
would  only  stay  away.  As  he  was  doubtless  just 
on  the  point  of  arriving,  it  was  suicide  for  me 
to  dally  longer. 

"You  are  thoughtful,"  I  said,  "very  thought- 
ful and  very  kind,  all  of  you.  We  do  not  have  our 
path  smoothed  out  for  us  like  that  in  New  York." 

"New  York  is  lovely,  I  hate  it  here,"  she  cried, 
while  a  look  of  desperation  suddenly  clouded  her 
brow  and  her  quick,  bright  eyes  rolled  restlessly, 
like  some  wild  thing  caught  in  a  trap  and  panting 
for  liberty. 

If  I  could  have  helped  her  I  might  have  sought 


BEATRICE  59 

and  won  her  confidence,  then  and  there ;  but  time 
was  pressing  and  I  had  no  wish  to  be  burdened 
with  a  secret  which  I  might  afterwards  be 
tempted  to  betray.  Even  a  newspaper  man  has 
some  decency  in  such  matters,  and  I  had  enough 
on  my  conscience  already. 

"I  must  hurry  on,  Miss  Apthorpe,"  I  said,  "or 
I  shall  be  late — late  for  church,  of  course,  I 
mean."  I  just  saved  myself. 

"I  will  walk  around  by  the  bridle-path  with 
you  and  show  you  the  way,"  she  replied,  opening 
the  gate.  "You  might  miss  it,  you  know,  if  you 
went  alone,  and  never  reach  church  at  all.  What 
would  they  do  without  the  sermon  they  are  antici- 
pating so  hopefully?" 

"They  seem  to  have  done  very  well  without  it 
up  to  date,"  I  retorted,  in  extreme  vexation. 

"No,  they  haven't.  It's  terribly  stupid  to  have 
the  service  read  and  no  minister  to  look  up  to  and 
tell  you  things.  The  people  here  are  simply 
ravenous  for  a  sermon." 

"They  must  be  different  from  city  people, 
then." 


60  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

"They  are — very." 

"I  am  afraid  my  humble  discourse  will  prove 
disappointing.  I  am  not  accustomed  to  such  at- 
tention." 

"Oh,  they  will  dote  on  anything  you  say — any- 
thing!" 

"But  you  could  never  keep  up  with  me.  I  shall 
have  to  walk  fast,  very  fast." 

"Try  me  and  see.  I  will  race  you  to  the  church 
— or  to  any  other  place  you  choose !" 

"I  would  be  glad  to  accept  the  challenge — were 
I  out  of  the  ministry." 

"You  would  lose.  I  won  the  prize  at  the  Sun- 
day-school picnic,  last  summer,  as  the  fastest  run- 
ner among  the  girls.  I  feel  much  stronger  and 
'faster'  now  than  then." 

There  was  a  desperate  defiance  in  the  eyes  of 
the  young  woman  as  she  made  this  boast.  I  could 
well  believe  she  was  light  on  her  feet  and  a  high 
stepper.  The  covert  threat  of  pursuit  and  expo- 
sure should  I  attempt  to  run  away  was  not  lost 
on  me.  She  was  evidently  determined  not  to  let 
me  go. 


BEATRICE  61 

"I  was  merely  afraid  I  might  tire  you,"  I  fal- 
tered. 

"You  look  far  more  tired  than  I  do,"  was  her 
retort.  It  was  true.  I  was  tired,  very  tired;  I 
was  also  badly  scared. 

"This  is  a  fine  place  for  a  rest."  I  sighed.  It 
might  be;  but  I  had  found  it  pretty  lively  up 
to  date. 

"Are  you  coming?"  she  asked,  swinging  the 
gate  wide  open  and  looking  quizzically  into  my 
face. 

What  could  I  do?  There  was  no  hope  now 
of  reaching  the  station  in  time  to  head  off  the 
minister. 

A  shrill  whistle  echoed  among  the  hills.  The 
morning  train  from  Hilltown  was  approaching 
the  Greenford  station. 

"I  am  coming,"  I  replied. 


CHAPTER  V 

AN  INTERLOPER 

I  was  neatly  caught;  Beatrice  Apthorpe  was 
too  clever  for  me.  For  some  reason,  best  known 
to  herself,  she  was  determined  to  hold  me  a 
prisoner. 

Under  happier  circumstances  I  would  have 
given  my  hope  of  salvation,  or  any  other  hope 
more  probable  of  fruition,  for  a  chance  to  wander 
through  the  Berkshire  Hills  with  Beatrice  Ap- 
thorpe for  a  companion,  on  a  bright  Sunday 
morning  with  nature  glowing  in  beauty  on  every 
hand.  I  could  have  tolerated  the  idea  of  conclud- 
ing that  walk  at  the  church  door. 

As  it  was,  I  was  desperately  anxious  to  make 
myself  scarce.  But  when  I  disappeared  I  wanted 
to  do  it  with  decorum.  The  picture  of  a  tall,  lean 
man,  in  a  silk  tile  and  frock-coat,  scampering 


AN  INTERLOPER  63 

down  a  Berkshire  knoll  with  a  sweet  young  girl 
chasing  after  him  in  mad  pursuit  was  not  at  all 
to  my  mind. 

She  had  boasted  she  could  outrun  me  and  had 
covertly  threatened  to  do  it.  I  was  not  at  all 
sure  she  would  not  be  as  good  as  her  word.  I 
would  rather  serve  time  in  state's-prison  than 
cut  such  a  figure  for  ten  seconds. 

But  the  alternative  was  even  worse.  To  be  un- 
masked at  the  very  door  of  the  church,  before  the 
entire  congregation,  by  the  genuine  parson, 
would  place  me  in  an  attitude  equally  ridiculous 
and  even  more  unpleasant.  To  proceed  was  ruin ; 
to  run  away  from  a  girl  was  disgrace.  In  despair 
I  sat  down  upon  a  boulder  at  the  side  of  the  path, 
not  daring  either  to  advance  or  retreat. 

"I  am  tired,"  I  said.    I  spoke  the  truth. 

"I  fear  it  will  prove  too  long  a  walk  for  you," 
remarked  the  girl  sympathetically.  "You  should 
not  have  undertaken  it."  How  she  enjoyed  quiz- 
zing me ! 

I  was  thinking  fast.  There  might  be  a  chance 
that  Tupper  had  been  carried  beyond  Hilltown. 


64  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

Without  his  clerical  coat  and  hat  he  might  be 
afraid  to  put  in  an  appearance  at  church,  even 
if  he  came  to  Greenford  in  time.  There  were 
half  a  dozen  chances  that  he  might  not  turn  up 
at  the  critical  moment  to  two  dozen  that  he  would. 
Anyhow,  I  could  walk  with  Miss  Apthorpe  as  far 
as  the  road,  take  a  good  look  when  we  came  in 
view  of  the  church,  and  if  I  saw  Tupper  drop 
everything  and  run  for  it. 

I  made  a  rapid  calculation  and  concluded  that, 
if  the  minister  came  in  by  the  train  that  was  just 
at  that  moment  stopping  at  Greenford,  he  would 
arrive  at  the  church  at  about  the  same  time  we 
did,  provided  he  went  there  directly. 

I  had  just  reached  this  conclusion  and  was 
about  to  proceed  when  Miss  Apthorpe  addressed 
me :  "I  want  to  ask  you  a  question,  Mr.  Plymp — 
Tupper,  I  mean.'* 

I  started  as  though  I  had  been  stung.  I  was 
stung.  She  not  only  knew  I  wasn't  Tupper,  but 
she  was  also  aware  of  my  true  name !  How  had 
she  discovered  it?  That  ended  all  thought  of 
running  away  for  the  present.  Even  if  I  escaped 


AN  INTERLOPER  65 

temporarily,  she  could  make  things  very  disagree- 
able for  me  afterwards. 

"Well,  well,  what,  er — what  is  it?"  I  stam- 
mered. 

"If  a  girl  is  married  by  a  man  who  isn't  a 
minister,  is  the  marriage  legal?  Would  she  be 
bound  by  it  in  any  way?" 

I  whistled.  The  cat  was  out  of  the  bag. 
Through  my  help  she  was  cherishing  a  wild  hope 
of  avoiding  her  approaching  marriage.  "How  do 
you  mean?"  I  asked. 

"Well,  suppose  a  girl  had  to  be  married,  was 
forced  to  go  through  the  ceremony,  that  there 
were  no  possible  escape  from  it.  Suppose  on  the 
other  hand,  she  had  rather  die  than  be  really, 
truly  married,  bound  for  life  to  one  for  whom 
she  had  no  love  or  respect.  If  the  minister  that 
married  them  wasn't  a  minister  at  all,  would  she 
be  a  wife,  would  she  be  married?  Would  she  be 
bound  in  any  way  by  the  ceremony?" 

So  that  was  the  program!  That  was  why  she 
wanted  the  Rev.  Charles  W.  Tupper  out  of  it, 
and  had  use  for  Basil  Plympton  in  his  accidental 


66  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

disguise.  It  was  a  foolish,  silly  scheme,  I  thought, 
and  one  to  be  discouraged.  A  girl  who  could  con- 
ceive a  dramatic  plot  so  clever  seemed  astonish- 
ingly remiss  in  her  conceptions  when  it  came  to 
facing  the  problems  of  real  life.  I  had  no  inten- 
tion of  lending  the  slightest  countenance  to  a 
notion  so  absurd. 

"Would  she  be  bound?  Not  unless  a  bogus 
minister  happened  to  be  a  real  justice  of  the 
peace,"  I  replied,  "or  an  alderman,  or  a  notary 
public,  or  a  governor,  or  a  mayor,  or  something 
like  that.  It's  a  risky  experiment.  You  never 
can  tell." 

"Oh!"  she  said,  and  her  face  fell. 

"I  knew  a  girl  once,"  I  continued,  "  who  was 
married  in  fun  by  a  newspaper  reporter,  and  they 
found  out  afterwards  that  he  was  a  commissioner 
of  deeds.  She  was  married  so  hard  and  fast  they 
had  a  lot  of  fuss  and  trouble  getting  it  annulled." 

"Oh!"  remarked  Miss  Beatrice  Apthorpe  once 
more. 

"Most  newspaper  men  are  commissioners  of 
deeds,"  I  added. 


AN  INTERLOPER  67 

I  hoped  that  clinched  it.  If  she  thought  to  use 
me  as  a  foil  in  her  entanglement  with  Fielding, 
she  took  me  for  a  bigger  fool  than  I  was.  She 
looked  so  disconsolate,  so  utterly  woe-begone  as 
I  drove  in  that  last  peg  that  my  heart  went  out 
to  the  girl  in  sympathy,  in  spite  of  the  way  she 
was  treating  me. 

"No  such  case  as  you  suppose  can  possibly 
arise,"  I  ventured  to  assert.  "There  are  always 
hundreds  of  loopholes  out  of  a  difficult  situation 
without  making  light  of  a  sacred  religious  cere- 
mony." 

I  meant  it  in  all  sincerity,  but  she  responded 
with  a  body  blow  that  turned  my  own  words  on 
me  neatly.  "Find  one,  then,"  she  challenged  with 
a  mischievous  laugh,  "if  you  can !" 

My  own  sad  plight  had  been  forgotten  for  the 
moment  in  my  sympathy  for  her.  That  mocking 
laugh  recalled  it  most  vividly.  I  also  was  in  a 
fix  where  I  must  "make  light  of  a  sacred  religious 
ceremony"  or  take  such  consequences  as  this  girl 
chose  to  visit  on  my  head.  She  looked  dangerous. 


68  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

I  did  not  dare  defy  her  openly.  For  the  time  be- 
ing I  appeared  to  yield. 

"Some  newspaper  men  are  not  even  commis- 
sioners of  deeds,"  I  admitted  shamefacedly.  "I 
would  take  an  attorney's  advice  were  I  in  that 
young  lady's  position.  As  far  as  my  legal  knowl- 
edge goes,  however,  a  marriage  by  such  a  man  as 
you  describe  would  probably  be  of  no  more  ac- 
count than  hopping  over  a  broomstick,  provided 
it  were  immediately  repudiated." 

"But  could  you  wait  long  enough  to  make  the 
man  who  thought  he  was  your  husband  confess 
the  manner  in  which  he  had  acquired  a  hold  on 
you  and  forced  you  to  become  an  unwilling 
bride?" 

"Probably.  But  with  such  a  rascal  as  you  de- 
scribe, that  might  prove  difficult.  A  father  or  a 
brother-in-law  with  a  loaded  revolver  at  his  head 
would  prove  more  persuasive,  in  my  humble  judg- 
ment." 

"But  suppose  you  were  in  a  situation  where 
every  one  was  against  you;  where  the  truth  was 
imposible  of  belief.  Where  you,  yourself,  were 


AN  INTERLOPER  69 

compelled  by  force  of  circumstances  to  admit  and 
to  act  a  falsehood?" 

"Such  a  situation  will  sometimes  arise,"  I  ad- 
mitted ruefully;  "but  only  where  a  man  is 
tired  out,  half  asleep  and  a  great  blockhead 
into  the  bargain." 

"I  am  not  talking  about  you — I  mean,  that  is, 
about  any  man.  I  am  talking  about  a  girl — an 
impulsive,  trusting,  foolish  girl  who  thought  her- 
self clever  and  able  to  take  care  of  herself.  Such 
a  thing  might  occur  with  such  a  girl  where  the 
man  she  relied  upon  was  still  cleverer." 

A  dim  inkling  of  the  true  situation  began  to 
dawn  on  me.  Beatrice  Apthorpe  was  in  the  grip 
of  some  extraordinarily  tangled  web  from  which 
she  saw  no  way  of  escape  save  by  means  as  un- 
usual as  her  dilemma.  But,  in  any  event,  she  did 
not  intend  to  let  me  go.  Willing  or  unwilling, 
she  was  determined  that  I  should  remain  and 
continue  to  play  my  part. 

I  was  merely  a  pawn  in  her  life's  game  of  chess. 
A  valuable  pawn,  though,  and  one  she  did  not 
mean  to  lose  until  the  time  came  to  offer  me  as  a 


70  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

sacrifice  on  the  gambit.  My  dangers  were  in- 
creasing hourly,  for  her  bright  eyes  and  winning 
face  now  held  me  in  complete  entrancement. 

While  we  were  talking  we  had  been  descending 
the  bridle-path,  and  we  now  entered  the  road. 
Not  five  minutes  walk  to  the  right  was  the  little 
church.  The  critical  moment  was  at  hand,  but  I 
consoled  myself  with  the  thought  that  if  Miss 
Apthorpe  knew  who  I  was  and  the  Rev.  Charles 
W.  Tupper  knew  who  I  wasn't,  there  really  was 
not  much  to  expose  then  and  there.  Tupper 
might  think  I  had  robbed  him,  however,  and  I 
could  explain  how  things  had  happened  privately 
much  better  than  in  the  presence  of  such  a  mis- 
chievous young  lady. 

It  was  in  this  frame  of  mind  that  I  beheld, 
coming  rapidly  forward,  not  two  hundred  yards 
from  us,  a  young  man  somewhat  curiously  attired. 
He  wore  black  and  well-pressed  trousers,  shining 
patent-leather  shoes,  a  clerical  vest,  a  shapeless 
slouch  hat  and  a  jaunty  outing  jacket.  In  his 
hand  he  carried  a  suit-case.  It  was  the  Rev. 
Charles  W.  Tupper  of  St.  Luke's  rectory! 


AN  INTERLOPER  71 

We  recognized  each  other  at  about  the  same 
moment.  Then  I  lost  my  head,  dropped  the  grip 
I  was  carrying  right  in  the  road  and  turned  to 
run  for  it.  It  wasn't  physical  fear  but  dread  of 
exposure,  and  I  thought  that  was  all  there  was 
left  for  me  to  do.  Miss  Apthorpe  held  a  con- 
trary opinion.  A  little  hand  caught  me  firmly 
by  the  sleeve  and  held  me  fast.  I  could  not  have 
torn  myself  loose  save  by  the  exercise  of  brute 
force.  It  would  never  do  to  try  to  run  with  a 
young  woman  clinging  to  one's  coat-tails.  Even 
arrest  and  imprisonment  would  be  better  than 
that! 

"What  is  the  matter,  Mr.  Tupper?"  she  asked 
me,  with  astonishing  coolness  and  a  daring  gleam 
in  her  bright  eyes. 

"Nothing,  only  I — I  forgot  something,"  I 
said,  striving  at  the  same  time  to  loosen  her  hold 
with  gentle  effort.  She  held  on  convulsively. 
To  escape  I  must  hurt  her,  and  I  could  not  do 
that. 

"Never  mind,"  she  said.  "It's  too  late  to  go 
back  for  anything  now.  Too  late,  you  under- 


72  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

stand.    People  are  already  arriving  at  church." 

The  young  man  in  the  slouch  hat  and  out- 
rageous outing  jacket  came  up  with  fire  in  his 
eye.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  face  it  out. 
The  Rev.  Charles  W.  Tupper  of  St.  Luke's  rec- 
tory had  a  most  unclerical,  most  unchristian 
hearing.  I  was  really  shocked,  he  seemed  so 
fierce  and  revengeful.  I  grew  more  calm  and 
gazed  upon  him  with  benign  dignity. 

"You  rascal,"  he  cried  in  a  very  loud,  offensive 
voice,  "give  me  my  property  and  make  yourself 
scarce  or  I  will  turn  you  over  to  the  police." 

It  was  very  imprudent  of  him  to  talk  like  that 
if  he  wished  to  establish  his  identity.  I  began  to 
hope,  and  also  to  grow  in  grace. 

Miss  Apthorpe  uttered  a  little  shriek  and  seized 
my  arm  with  both  her  hands.  She  possessed  his- 
trionic powers  and  she  now  brought  them  into 
play  with  telling  effect.  "Oh,  Mr.  Tupper,"  she 
cried  to  me,  "I  am  afraid  of  that  man;  he  looks 
so  queer  and  talks  so  loud ;  protect  me  from  him !" 

"Poor  man,  perhaps  he  is  in  pain.  I  am  sure 
he  means  no  offense,"  I  reassured  her,  with  a  love- 


AN  INTERLOPER  73 

your-enemy,  forgive-everybody  sort  of  a  look. 

"No  offense  to  Miss  Apthorpe,"  he  returned 
more  calmly ;  "no  off  ense  to  her  in  any  event.  But 
you,  sir,  are  an  impostor  and  a  villain,  as  she 
ought  to  know  very  well." 

"How  strangely  he  talks,"  cried  my  fair  com- 
panion. "I  never  spoke  to  the  man  before  in  all 
my  life." 

"Never  spoke  to  me!"  cried  the  bewildered 
young  parson.  "Why,  Miss  Apthorpe,  surely  you 
are  mistaken.  Don't  you  remember  last  summer 
at  Bath  Beach?" 

"What  assurance!"  exclaimed  the  young  lady. 
"I  do  recognize  him  now,  Mr.  Tupper.  He  is  one 
of  those  horrid  and  ridiculous  newspaper  men 
who  pester  us  at  every  turn." 

"Ridiculous!"  shouted  the  outraged  young 
dominie,  his  temper  getting  the  better  of  him 
again.  "You  know  me  well  enough,  and  I  am 
not  going  to  submit  to  this  shameful  treatment." 

"Know  you,  indeed  I  do  know  you,  sir,"  said 
the  daring  young  lady. 


74  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

"Who  am  I,  then?"  cried  the  excited  young 
parson. 

"You  are  Mr.  Basil  Plympton  of  the  New 
York  'Express,'  and  you  had  better  go  away  and 
let  me  alone,  or  I  shall  appeal  to  my  father.  He  is 
coming  up  the  road  now;  be  warned  in  time." 
Then,  turning  to  me,  with  an  enigmatical  expres- 
sion, she  continued:  "I  suppose  the  'Express' 
sent  its  dramatic  critic  instead  of  just  an  ordinary 
reporter,  because  he  might  be  expected  to  act  in 
a  less  newspaperlike  manner.  I  am  disappointed 
in  Mr.  Plympton,  who  was  once  pointed  out  to 
me  at  the  theatre  as  one  of  our  most  discriminat- 
ing dramatic  critics."  The  merry  twinkle  in  her 
eye  as  she  made  that  thrust  strike  home  was  hard- 
ly reassuring,  though  how  she  came  to  know  me 
was  now  explained. 

Some  distance  away  the  Apthorpe  carriage 
was  slowly  mounting  the  hill.  In  it  were  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Apthorpe,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gosse,  and  Master 
Howard  Gosse.  Desperate  indeed  must  be  the 
plight  of  a  girl  who  was  willing  to  venture  such 
chances;  but  she  took  them  unflinchingly  and 


AN  INTERLOPER  75 

with  an  aplomb  calculated  to  carry  conviction.  I 
almost  began  to  believe  I  was  the  minister,  after 
all,  and  that  Tupper  wasn't. 

Of  the  two  I  was  the  better  dressed  and  much 
better  behaved.  His  silk  tile  on  my  head  had  lost 
none  of  its  sheen.  His  beautiful  frock-coat  on 
my  shoulders  hung  in  glossy  folds.  His  ample 
collar  on  my  neck  shone  white  in  the  morning 
sun. 

My  collar  on  his  neck  was  tight  to  suffocation, 
and  its  sharp  points  stuck  into  his  chin,  giving 
him  an  apoplectic  appearance  that  was  enhanced 
by  the  anger  which  flushed  his  face.  My  slouch 
hat  on  his  head  was  the  height  of  jaunty  pertness. 
My  outing  jacket  on  his  shoulders  was  redolent 
of  tobacco.  The  odor  was  decidedly  unclerical. 

Notwithstanding  the  unfavorable  testimony 
of  my  gaudy  trousers,  bright  stockings,  low  tan 
shoes  and  red  necktie,  no  jury  in  the  country 
would  fail  to  give  me  the  verdict  when  I  smiled 
upon  them  with  brotherly  love,  even  without  the 
convincing  testimony  of  Miss  Beatrice  Apthorpe. 
One  of  us  was  going  to  be  in  trouble  pretty  soon, 


76  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

and  I  hoped  to  prove  the  more  fortunate  party. 
Even  if  they  put  me  in  jail  I  was  resolved  to  for- 
give them  and  bless  them.  While  I  was  in  the 
ministry  I  wanted  to  live  up  to  its  noblest 
traditions. 

The  reverend  young  gentleman  confronting  us 
was  dumfounded  at  thus  being  bereft  of  his  iden- 
tity, his  wardrobe  and  his  money  while  in  the 
very  act  of  triumphantly  exposing  an  impostor 
and  a  thief,  before  the  very  door  of  his  church  and 
before  the  very  eyes  of  the  family  whose  guest  he 
had  expected  to  be. 

I  was  really  sorry  for  him.  If  I  could  have 
done  so  safely  I  would  have  thrown  up  the  game 
that  I  was  playing  merely  to  gratify  a  girl's 
whim.  He  gave  me  no  chance,  in  the  first  place. 
In  the  next,  it  wasn't  my  funeral.  He  had  chosen 
to  come  to  Greenford  in  the  face  of  Miss  Ap- 
thorpe's  urgent  request  that  he  remain  in  New 
York.  She  was  giving  him  about  what  he  de- 
served, and  avenging  herself  neatly. 

I  was  forced  to  save  my  own  skin,  though  I 
was  helping  her  incidentally.  She  did  all  the 


AN  INTERLOPER  77 

difficult  part  of  the  performance.  All  I  had  to  do 
was  to  stand  around  and  look  my  part.  Chris- 
tian charity  comes  easy  when  you  are  on  top.  I 
felt  a  brotherly  love  for  everybody  and  tried  to 
show  it.  I  gazed  at  the  stupefied  young  fellow 
with  benign  compassion. 

"Do  not  be  too  hard  upon  him,  Miss  Ap- 
thorpe,"  I  said.  "Even  a  newspaper  man  is  en- 
titled to  some  sympathy  when  earning  his  bread 
and  butter  on  a  distasteful  assignment.  The  sun 
is  hot  and  he  has  been  a  bit  touched,  that's  all." 

My  commiseration  was  the  last  straw.  He 
looked  as  if  he  wanted  to  strangle  me.  His  face 
was  flushed  with  unseemly  rage  as  he  shouted: 
"Touched!  touched!  I  should  say  I  had  been 
touched — to  the  tune  of  one  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars,  to  say  nothing  of  other  things !" 

"So?"  I  cried,  "Poor  fellow!  If  you  are  really 
in  want  I  always  have  a  little  fund  to  draw  upon 
for  the  needy  in  distress."  So  saying  I  tossed 
him  his  own  purse,  with  the  air  of  a  belted  knight 
bestowing  a  piece  of  gold  on  a  leper,  or  a  benevo- 
lent citizen  dropping  a  penny  in  a  blind  man's 


78  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

hat.  "It  is  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive," 
I  murmured. 

The  much-abused  young  parson  stooped  down 
to  pick  up  his  own  purse.  One  couldn't  blame 
him,  yet  it  was  right  there  he  lost  his  only  chance. 
While  he  was  groveling  for  the  money  and  I 
stood,  erect  and  unruffled,  the  Apthorpe  carriage 
drove  by  at  a  rapid  trot. 

"Hurry  up,  Beatrice,  don't  make  Mr.  Tupper 
late,"  called  her  father,  as  the  carriage  passed  us. 

Had  Tupper  scorned  the  money ;  had  he  bold- 
ly stopped  the  carriage  and  asserted  his  identity, 
gently  but  firmly,  he  must  have  carried  the  day. 
There  were  reasons  of  which  I  was  at  that  time 
ignorant  which  would  have  inclined  the  family 
to  suspect  the  girl  of  any  desperate  hoax,  and 
they  would  have  stood  ready  to  give  Tupper  a 
hearing,  which  was  all  he  needed. 

But  young  Mr.  Tupper  was  just  as  ignorant 
as  I  was  of  the  strange  situation.  Moreover,  as 
it  turned  out,  he  had  certain  tender  sentiments 
toward  the  young  lady  who  treated  him  so  shame- 
fully, and  was  ready  to  submit  to  anything  rather 


AN  INTERLOPER  79 

than  join  issue  with  her  before  her  family  and 
thus  bring  her  into  trouble. 

So  it  came  about  that  we  won  the  day  with  all 
the  chances  against  us.  I  had  completely  sup- 
planted the  young  clergyman;  to  all  intents  and 
purposes  he  had  lost  his  identity. 


CHAPTER  VI 

I  SPEAK  OUT 

"You  will  repent  this,  both  of  you,"  snapped 
the  Rev.  Charles  W.  Tupper,  alias  Basil  Plymp- 
ton,  of  the  New  York  "Express." 

"Come  to  church  and  hear  a  sermon  on  moun- 
tain daisies  and  beautiful  snow.  It  will  calm 
your  nerves,"  coolly  responded  Basil  Plympton, 
of  the  New  York  "Express,"  alias  the  Rev. 
Charles  W.  Tupper. 

What  more  could  I  do  for  the  poor  outcast 
than  to  invite  him  to  go  to  church  and  hear  me 
read  his  own  sermon?  I  would  not  be  mean 
enough  to  deny  him  any  little  pleasure  like  that. 

"Thank  you,  I  will  certainly  accept  your  in- 
vitation," replied  the  aggressive  dominie. 

We  turned  our  backs  upon  him  with  calm  dig- 
nity and  walked  toward  the  little  church  whose 
bells  were  now  tolling  clamorously.  Behind  us, 


I  SPEAK  OUT  81 

close  behind  us,  with  vengeful  brow,  walked  our 
persecuted  persecutor. 

I  could  hear  his  footsteps  as  they  crunched  the 
gravel,  and  it  made  me  nervous ;  but  I  took  care 
not  to  show  it. 

Beatrice  Apthorpe  still  rested  her  soft,  per- 
suading hand  upon  my  arm.  It  served  to  increase 
my  stature  and  made  my  heart  grow  exceedingly 
bold.  The  morning  was  sweet,  the  verdure  fresh, 
and  far  down  the  valley  ran  the  happy  river, 
flowing  as  doth  kindness  from  the  purified  human 
heart.  I  was  at  peace  with  all  the  world  and  even 
forgave  Tupper.  Kindness  wasn't  flowing  from 
his  heart  just  then,  but  he  had  his  excuses  and  I 
tried  to  make  allowances  for  him. 

I  walked  with  Miss  Apthorpe  to  her  pew, 
where  her  family  were  already  seated.  I  bowed 
to  her  in  the  presence  of  the  curious  rural  congre- 
gation assembled,  amid  vast  craning  of  necks  and 
flutter  of  flaring  headgear.  Then  I  sauntered  uj) 
the  aisle,  the  observed  of  all  observers.  I  passed 
the  little  organ  where  sat  a  young  woman, 
impatient  to  begin,  and  entered  the  small 


82  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

door   at   the   north   side   of   the   tiny   chancel. 

At  last  were  the  direful  splendours  of  those 
obstreperous  plaid  pantaloons  to  be  cloaked  in 
obscurity.  Mr.  Dobbs  had  a  surplice  in  readiness, 
and  clapped  it  on  my  shoulders  as  soon  as  I 
entered. 

He  was  very  impatient,  was  Mr.  Dobbs.  I 
was  five  minutes  late,  and  the  lay-reader  was  the 
soul  of  promptitude.  He  was  also  the  soul  of 
jealousy.  That  a  man  of  his  ability  should  be 
supplanted  by  a  city  parson  was  not  at  all  to 
his  mind. 

The  organ  was  now  resounding  through  the 
small  edifice  with  a  solemn  rumble,  and  the  little 
choir  was  assembling  for  the  processional  that 
was  to  follow.  Eight  small,  shock-headed  ur- 
chins were  treading  upon  one  another's  toes  and 
whispering  personal  comments  upon  the  new  par- 
son, while  four  young  women  in  snow-white  robes 
were  casting  either  shy  or  sly  glances  at  me.  A 
hymnal  was  thrust  into  my  hands  by  some  one. 
and  the  little  boys  began  to  march  in.  The  young 
ladies  followed.  The  lay-reader  and  I  fell  in  be- 
hind, side  by  side. 


I  SPEAK  OUT  83 

"Jerusalem  the  golden,"  we  were  singing. 
Among  my  few  personal  advantages  is  a  mellow 
bass.  When  I  was  a  little  shaver  I  sang  in  an 
Episcopal  choir,  though  my  people  were  all  Con- 
gregationalists. 

From  out  the  dim  past  a  vision  of  that  little 
church  rose  before  me  and  transported  me  to 
eastern  Massachusetts.  We  called  it  the  "ortho- 
dox" church,  to  distinguish  it  from  the  schis- 
matic Unitarians.  I  could  see  the  good  old 
country  folk  in  the  pews  about  me,  while  my 
mother  sat  by  my  side  and  held  my  hand  in  hers. 
There  had  my  parents  worshipped,  there  their 
parents  before  them.  Though  far  from  right- 
eousness I  had  trod  my  wayward  steps,  though 
the  old  faith  had  often  been  forgotten,  a  touch 
of  early  reverence  fell  upon  me. 

There  was  not  much  ritual  in  that  old  church. 
There  were  long  sermons  and  hard-and-fast  the- 
ology. There  was  a  very  long  Sunday-school, 
following  the  service,  that  spun  things  well  out 
into  the  afternoon  while  all  the  little  ones  became 
hungry  and  consequently  cross. 


84  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

As  I  entered  behind  that  swaying  little  proces- 
sion of  songsters  and  sang  the  hymn  myself  with 
a  right  good-will,  I  felt  very  low  and  sinful.  I 
was  a  fraud,  a  cheat  and  an  impostor.  That  was 
not  what  worried  me.  I  served  as  well  as  another, 
perhaps.  Had  I  been  duly  ordained ;  had  I  been 
rightfully  in  the  pulpit,  I  might  have  felt  much 
the  same.  I  was  a  mere  man,  standing  before  my 
fellow  men  and  women,  to  represent  the  Holy 
One. 

I  was  blind,  seeking  to  lead  others  as  blind  as 
I  toward  a  light  which  I  did  not  see.  I  have  had 
more  charity  and  leniency  toward  the  clergy  of 
all  denominations  from  that  hour. 

I  was  familiar  enough  with  the  ritual,  from  my 
early  experience  as  a  choir-boy,  to  have  put  the 
whole  thing  through  without  the  help  of  Mr. 
Dobbs.  Had  I  known  or  guessed  what  an  awful 
nuisance  he  was  going  to  prove,  and  what  a  dread- 
ful predicament  he  was  going  to  plunge  me  into, 
I  should  have  declined  his  assistance  at  the  outset 
and  sent  him  packing  to  his  home  in  Highfield, 
where  he  belonged. 


I  SPEAK  OUT  85 

It  wasn't  the  ritual  that  bothered  me.  A  lay- 
reader  has  an  easy  task.  The  dread  moment  was 
approaching.  The  sermon  must  soon  begin! 

Under  my  robe  I  clutched  desperately  the  Rev. 
Charles  W.  Tupper's  manuscript,  but  my  soul 
rebelled  at  the  notion  of  reading  it.  I  was  really 
in  earnest  about  that  church  service.  I  had  not 
had  time  to  go  to  church  for  a  long  while,  and  my 
religious  nature  was  reawakened. 

Being  forced  by  circumstances  over  which  I 
had  no  control  to  sit  in  the  pulpit  and  pass  myself 
off  as  the  minister,  I  threw  myself  into  the  part 
with  whole-souled  earnestness  and  perfect  rev- 
erence for  the  church  on  earth.  In  fact,  my 
troubles  did  not  spring  from  too  little  sincerity, 
but  rather  from  a  superabundance  of  it. 

I  didn't  want  to  preach  a  sermon  while  the  poor 
fellow  whose  identity  I  had  appropriated  sat  be- 
fore me  and  listened  to  his  own  fine  periods  with 
woe-begone  countenance.  He  looked  unhappy 
enough,  as  it  was.  I  was  averse  to  stealing  his 
sermon,  after  all  the  other  wrongs  I  had  done 
him  ;and  I  would  not  do  it  unless  really  obliged  to. 


86  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

Could  I  not  rise  to  the  occasion,  and  incident- 
ally convince  Miss  Beatrice  Apthorpe  that  there 
was  something  in  me  of  worth  and  truth  in  the 
very  face  of  all  the  chances  and  mischances  that 
had  made  me  appear  ridiculous  in  her  sight?  Yes, 
it  was  certainly  worth  while  trying,  anyway. 

How  demurely  she  sat  there  with  her  family 
in  their  pew!  How  her  roguish  face  had  softened 
with  the  dignity  of  the  hour!  And  yet — and 
yet — she  was  responsible  for  it  all.  She  had  "put 
up  the  job,"  she  had  forced  the  sacrilege.  She 
could  look  as  pious  as  she  pleased,  the  fact  re- 
mained. 

Well,  we  were  in  the  same  box,  and  she  was 
probably  thinking  the  same  thing  about  me. 
Wasn't  I  compelled  to  look  saintly  also?  If  I 
could  preach  my  own  sermon  I  would  to  some  ex- 
tent escape  hypocrisy. 

I  had  a  capacious  memory,  full  of  all  sorts  of 
odds  and  ends.  My  mind  was  a  literary  scrap- 
book,  arranged  helter-skelter.  I  knew  a  number 
of  quotations  from  famous  preachers  of  various 


I  SPEAK  OUT  87 

denominations.  I  mentally  sorted  out  a  few  of 
these  and  conned  them  over. 

This  was  my  program:  I  would  try  hard  to 
give  them  an  original  sermon,  newly  coined  from 
a  fresh  and  virgin  mint.  If  I  stuck  fast  anywhere 
I  could  anchor  to  one  of  these  quotations  until 
the  storm  blew  over  and  I  was  once  more  riding 
calmly  on  the  smooth  seas  of  oratory.  If  all  else 
failed  I  had  the  Rev.  Charles  W.  Tupper's  ortho- 
dox discourse  to  fall  back  upon. 

The  time  sped  rapidly  for  me.  I  never  before 
realized  how  much  faster  the  minutes  fly  behind 
the  pulpit  than  in  front  of  it.  Had  I  been  in  a 
pew  that  morning  I  should  have  been  bored  to 
death  long  before  the  sermon  began,  and  longed 
for  the  fresh  air  and  bright  sunshine  without.  As 
it  was,  I  wasn't  bored.  Whatever  else  may  have 
been  the  matter  with  me,  bored  I  assuredly  was 
not. 

In  the  rear  of  the  church  my  eye  rested  upon 
the  sad  face  of  the  Rev.  Charles  W.  Tupper. 
How  vulgar  he  looked,  how  out  of  place  in  a  pew 
at  church.  Who  would  believe  him  presentable  in 


88  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

the  pulpit  ?   There  he  sat,  all  manner  of  uncharity 

in  his  heart  and  upon  his  countenance.     As  I 

gazed  upon  him  I  grew  in  grace  and  benign 

serenity. 

I  began  well.  I  addressed  them  appropriately 
as  "dearly  beloved  brethren,"  and  started  in  to 
give  them  my  own  ideas  of  the  cosmos  generally. 
Having  covered  a  wide  field  in  a  few  minutes,  by 
way  of  preamble,  I  advanced  my  thoughts  on  a 
vital  question  that  confronts  us  all,  of  whatever 
creed  or  denomination. 

"If  a  man  lose  a  hand  or  an  eye,"  I  said,  "does 
he  place  it  in  a  coffin  and  bury  it  with  many 
tears?  Do  his  friends  gather  about  the  ground 
where  it  lies  and  offer  prayers  and  lamentations, 
and  strew  flowers  ?  It  has  been  plucked  out  and 
cast  from  him.  One  of  his  members  has  perished. 
Has  his  soul,  or  any  fraction  of  his  soul  perished 
with  it? 

"Is  the  whole  greater  than  the  sum  of  all  its 
parts?  Does  the  whole  body,  indeed,  contain  the 
soul  at  all,  in  any  other  sense  than  did  the  hand 


I  SPEAK  OUT  89 

or  the  eye  that  are  dead,  but  which  once  mani- 
fested the  soul's  presence  to  other  souls?" 

That  is  all  I  care  to  quote  of  my  remarks.  I 
reproduce  this  much  only  because  these  are  the 
words  that  Mr.  Dobbs  took  exception  to  and 
made  such  a  fuss  about;  so  much  of  a  fuss  that 
it  brought  a  number  of  people  into  difficulties, 
including  myself. 

I  was  much  in  earnest  about  all  this.  The 
question  of  mortality  or  immortality  is  a  live  one 
yet,  out  of  the  pulpit  as  well  as  in  it,  among  rank 
heretics  as  well  as  in  the  fold  of  true  believers. 
I  had  thought  much  about  it. 

But  this  sort  of  newspaper  theology,  fresh  from 
the  editorial  sanctum  of  the  "Express,"  was 
bound  to  create  something  of  a  stir  among  the 
conservative  denizens  of  the  Berkshires. 

"Perhaps  I  am  going  it  a  little  strong,"  it 
occurred  to  me,  as  I  sensed  the  magnetic  waves 
afloat.  "It  will  not  do  to  preach  a  sermon  that 
will  make  any  fuss."  Had  I  but  known  it,  I 
might  as  well  have  kept  on  to  a  finish,  as  the  fuss 
was  already  brewing. 


90  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

The  orator  who  hesitates  in  the  midst  of  an 
extemporaneous  discourse  is  generally  lost.  I 
caught  the  eyes  of  Beatrice  Apthorpe.  They 
were  fixed  upon  me  as  though  she  would  read  my 
inmost  soul.  They  had  a  strange  light  in  them, 
the  insignia  of  a  mighty  fraternity  whose  free- 
masonry exchanges  signals  among  its  members 
in  every  age  and  clime.  Yes,  she  too  was 
a  slave  of  the  lamp.  Her  keen  mind  was 
scampering  through  vistas  of  sympathetic 
speculations. 

Even  if  it  had  been  wise  to  continue  the  re- 
construction of  the  heavens  above,  the  earth  be- 
neath and  the  waters  under  the  earth,  the  divine 
afflatus,  which  had  thus  far  borne  me  aloft  and 
way  over  the  heads  of  the  congregation  had 
disappeared. 

Mentally  I  made  a  drowning  man's  clutch  for 
one  of  those  fine  quotations:  "As  another  great 
preacher  has  said — ahem !" 

The  words  would  not  come  and  even  the  intro- 
duction was  a  sad  miscue.  There  was  a  half-sup- 
pressed titter  as  I  hesitated.  "Of  course  you  un- 


I  SPEAK  OUT  91 

derstand  I  mean  another  great  preacher  besides 
myself,"  I  explained. 

That  was  worse  yet,  and  I  did  not  dare  try  to 
explain  it  again.  There  is  no  knowing  what 
might  have  happened  had  I  attempted  it.  Des- 
perately I  fell  back  upon  my  last  line  of  entrench- 
ments. I  drew  out  the  Rev.  Charles  W.  Tupper's 
manuscript  and  began  to  read  his  safe  and  sane 
platitudes. 

They  had  a  very  soothing  effect.  Their  high- 
flown  generalities,  their  vacuous  climaxes,  their 
inane  periods  were  all  proportioned  to  the  atmos- 
phere of  the  place.  Somehow  they  fitted  most  ap- 
propriately into  the  surroundings,  although  the 
city  editor  of  any  New  York  newspaper  would 
have  tossed  the  sermon  into  the  waste-basket  as 
being  utterly  without  human  interest. 

One  star  differeth  from  another  in  glory :  there 
is  one  glory  of  newspaper  diction  and  another 
glory  of  clerical  diction.  I  had  never  really  got 
this  through  my  head  until  I  came  to  preach  my- 
self, then  it  became  self-evident.  To  talk  news- 
paper theology  in  the  pulpit  is  like  mending  old 


92  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

garments,  respectable  and  venerable  garments, 
with  new  cloth.  It  was  like  a  patch  cut  out  of 
my  London  trousers  and  sewn  on  the  seat  of  cleri- 
cal breeches.  That  is  what  an  unbiased  auditor 
thought  of  my  first,  last  and  only  sermon.  She 
told  me  about  it  afterwards,  when  we  knew  each 
other  well  enough  for  her  to  speak  her  mind 
freely. 

Well,  if  my  own  sermon  was  a  bad  fizzle,  the 
Rev.  Charles  W.  Tupper's  purloined  manuscript 
pulled  me  through  the  knot-hole.  I  read  it  in 
sonorous  tones,  but  with  none  of  the  energy  or 
enthusiasm  I  had  displayed  in  advancing  my  own 
crude  ideas.  That  also  was  an  improvement.  I 
am  told  I  did  it  with  a  dignity,  gravity  and 
decorum  which  certified  to  my  absolute  ortho- 
doxy and  ultra  good-form. 

Moreover,  it  served  to  establish  my  stolen  iden- 
tity beyond  cavil  or  dispute  in  the  town  of  Green- 
ford.  I  might  be  a  rash  young  man  with  peculiar 
and  startling  ideas,  as  was  indicated  by  the  intro- 
ductory discourse;  but  I  was  also  evidently  a 
trained  writer  of  sermons,  conventional  sermons, 


I  SPEAK    OUT  93 

the  kind  that  soothe  one  spiritually  and  mentally, 
and  make  one  feel  very  good  and  very  sleepy. 

I  glanced  at  Beatrice  Apthorpe  as  I  sat  down. 
Her  right  eyebrow  was  elevated  to  its  drollest 
arch,  and  her  eyes  were  radiant  with  suppressed 
mischief. 


CHAPTER  VII 

FLIGHT 

But  I  had  other  things  to  do  in  the  world  be- 
sides furnishing  amusement  for  Miss  Beatrice 
Apthorpe.  I  had  been  betrayed  into  carrying 
matters  much  too  far  through  the  efforts  of  that 
whimsical  young  lady,  and  if  I  got  off  with  a 
year  in  the  penitentiary  I  should  be  lucky. 

Of  course  she  was  very  charming  and  bewitch- 
ing, but  she  was  far  over  my  head,  and  the  sooner 
I  put  her  out  of  sight  and  mind  the  better  it 
would  undoubtedly  be  for  my  peace  and  happi- 
ness. 

From  the  young  parson  I  could  hope  for  no 
mercy.  If  I  could  have  put  through  the  service 
without  delivering  his  sermon  there  might  have 
been  some  hope  of  making  him  ultimate  amends. 
While  I  was  vaingloriously  peddling  out  my  own 
views  he  had  worn  a  smile  of  contemptuous 


FLIGHT  95 

amusement.  "Give  the  impudent  impostor 
enough  rope  and  he  will  hang  himself,"  it  had 
seemed  to  say. 

When  I  drew  out  his  manuscript  and  began 
to  read  his  sermon  the  sneer  melted  into  anguish, 
the  leer  into  rage  and  dismay.  In  his  eyes  I  had 
committed  the  unpardonable  sin,  and  he  would 
leave  no  stone  unturned  to  punish  me  here,  while 
using  his  personal  influence  to  see  that  I  was  pro- 
vided with  a  good  warm  berth  hereafter.  I  might 
triumph  for  a  season,  but  the  day  of  reckoning 
would  surely  come.  As  long  as  he  remained  on 
the  scene  Greenford  was  no  safe  abiding-place 
for  me. 

The  closing  hymn  and  recessional  followed  in 
quick  succession,  and  I  marched  out  behind  the 
choir  by  the  side  of  Mr.  Dobbs. 

The  full  enormity  of  my  sins  had  been  growing 
upon  me  gradually,  and  the  nervous  tension  was 
tightening  every  moment.  I  was  in  a  cold  per- 
spiration, and  as  I  removed  the  surplice  I 
mopped  off  my  moist  brow  with  its  ample  folds, 
not  thinking  what  I  was  doing. 


96  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

That  careless  indiscretion  settled  my  case  with 
Dobbs.  He  snatched  the  sacred  garment  from 
my  polluting  grasp  with  an  angry  jerk.  He  had 
been  boiling  within  throughout  the  service,  and 
the  indignity  with  which  I  had  treated  the  holy 
robe  was  like  a  match  to  gunpowder. 

"Heresy  and  sacrilege  ever  go  hand  in  hand!" 
he  cried. 

"Heresy  your  grandmother!"  I  snorted,  losing 
patience  just  when  it  was  most  needed. 

"My  grandmother  was  no  heretic,"  retorted 
the  literal  Dobbs,  "and  I  will  thank  you  to  make 
no  aspersions  upon  her  sacred  memory.  She  was 
a  far  better  Christian  than  you,  with  all  your 
citified  airs." 

I  cooled  off  a  bit.  It  would  never  do  to  enter 
upon  an  unseemly  dispute  with  the  lay-reader 
before  the  members  of  the  choir.  I  had  enough 
troubles  on  my  hands  already. 

"I  intended  no  offense,  sir,"  I  replied,  with 
my  blandest  smile.  "I  merely  wanted  to  convey 
the  impression  that  my  discourse  was  absolutely 
orthodox,  and  my  wish  that  your  respected 


FLIGHT  97 

grandparents  and  all  your  other  relatives  could 
have  been  on  hand  to  hear  it." 

"You  have  denied  some  of  the  cardinal  ele- 
ments of  Christian  doctrine.  You  have  struck 
at  the  foundation  of  the  Apostles'  creed,"  as- 
serted Dobbs  in  a  tense  whisper.  He  didn't  want 
a  scene  any  more  than  I ;  but  he  had  his  convic- 
tions, and  he  intended  to  give  them  airing. 

We  retired  to  the  little  robing-room  to  fight 
it  out  privately.  I  had  no  time  to  lose,  but  I 
could  not  afford  to  depart  without  convincing 
Dobbs  that  I  had  taught  true  doctrine.  I  wanted 
to  sow  a  little  grain  of  mustard-seed  in  the 
church  universal,  and  then  stand  by  on  the  out- 
side and  watch  it  grow.  I  did  not  want  to  tell 
my  newspaper  friends  that  I  couldn't  even  hold 
up  my  end  with  an  unanointed  lay-reader. 

All  the  same,  such  was  the  fact;  Dobbs  car- 
ried all  the  guns.  He  didn't  do  anything  else  all 
winter  but  talk  theology;  he  had  all  the  fine 
points  at  his  tongue's  end  and  would  not  let  me 
put  in  a  word  edgewise.  His  idea  of  argument 
was  to  do  all  the  talking  himself,  and  then  lose 


98  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

his  temper  and  sulk  when  his  opponent  remained 
unconvinced.  He  was  one  of  the  toughest  doc- 
trinal propositions  I  ran  across  during  my  brief 
clerical  career. 

Anyway,  he  went,  in  fact  slammed  the  door 
behind  him  and  slammed  it  hard.  I  may  have 
worked  that  little  grain  of  mustard-seed  into  his 
system  somewhere,  but  it  has  been  a  long  time 
sprouting.  The  garniture  of  pickles  and  sand- 
wiches would  be  scarce  indeed  if  all  the  mustard 
plantations  worked  like  that. 

Well,  it  was  a  comfort  to  be  alone  for  a  min- 
ute, nevertheless.  The  small  robing-room  was 
lighted  by  a  single  window.  The  little  church 
backed  up  against  a  steep  hill,  and  the  room's 
solitary  window  looked  out  on  it.  You  entered  the 
edifice  up  a  flight  of  steps,  but  the  ground  rose 
rapidly,  and  the  window-sill  was  on  a  level  with 
the  slope  of  the  hill. 

I  raised  the  sash  cautiously  and  peered  out.  A 
thick  growth  of  young  trees  and  underbrush  con- 
cealed this  part  of  the  church  from  the  roadway. 
The  path  to  freedom  lay  before  me. 


FLIGHT  99 

I  could  hear  a  murmur  of  voices  from  the 
church.  Evidently  several  members  of  the  con- 
gregation were  waiting  to  seize  upon  me  when  I 
came  out.  The  Apthorpes  were  doubtless  among 
the  expectant  ones. 

In  spite  of  my  apparent  boldness  and  self-con- 
fidence, Dobbs  had  shaken  me  up  badly.  To  be 
accused  of  heresy  is  a  serious  thing  for  a  young 
parson,  even  when  he  is  as  genuine  as  the  best- 
advertised  brands  of  baking-powder.  A  spurious 
article  cannot  afford  to  be  anything  but  ultra- 
conservative.  The  members  of  a  congregation 
can  be  as  liberal  in  their  views  as  they  please,  but 
they  expect  their  minister  to  deal  out  sulphur  and 
brimstone,  or  they  begin  to  doubt  the  sincerity 
of  his  faith. 

My  sympathy  was  aroused  for  the  poor  young 
fledglings  who  are  forced  to  meet  such  criticism. 
I  didn't  blame  Tupper  for  confining  himself  to 
safe  and  sane  platitudes.  If  I  had  stuck  to  what 
he  had  written  Dobbs  would  have  had  no  chance 
to  criticise  me. 

I  took  my  hat  and  grip  and  crawled  out  of  the 


100  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

window.  Behind  me  was  controversy  and  detec- 
tion ;  before  me  was  the  peaceful  hillside  and  the 
calm  of  natural  beauty.  I  had  had  enough  of 
the  ministry  and  of  the  ideals  that  are  not  to  be 
disturbed. 

Beatrice  Apthorpe  would  have  to  struggle  with 
her  life  problem  as  best  she  might  without  further 
aid  from  me.  I  had  a  good  chance  to  decamp, 
and  I  proposed  to  make  the  most  of  it.  There 
were  other  heretic-hunters  waiting  to  devour  me. 

It  was  half  past  twelve  already.  At  one  o'clock 
Harry  Fielding  would  arrive.  By  two  the  Ap- 
thorpe family  would  be  gathered  about  the  din- 
ing-table.  I  shouldn't  be  there  to  give  them  an- 
other silent  blessing  with  devotional  atmosphere 
oozing  from  me,  but  over  the  hills  and  far  away. 

I  slipped  cautiously  out  of  the  window  and 
began  my  hurried  scramble  up  the  hillside.  The 
brambles  caught  at  the  dominie's  frock-coat  and 
made  scratches  here  and  there.  That  didn't  mat- 
ter; it  wasn't  mine.  Besides,  the  job  of  wearing 
out  my  London  trousers  on  the  Berkshire  Hills 
had  begun  at  last.  That  is  what  I  had  come  for. 


FLIGHT  101 

Up,  up  I  went,  now  walking,  now  crawling 
on  hands  and  knees,  now  going  back  to  pick  up 
the  silk  tile  which  was  continually  getting 
knocked  off  and  rolling  down  hill. 

In  half  an  hour  I  had  overcome  all  obstacles 
and  sat  down  on  a  rock,  under  a  widespreading 
oak,  with  the  parson's  hat  resting  on  one  side  of 
me  and  his  grip  on  the  other.  It  was  a  lovely 
day  and  a  fine  view.  Far  below  was  the  church. 
Further  on  was  the  Apthorpe  mansion  with  its 
beautiful  grove  of  maple  trees  and  decorative  gar- 
dens surrounding  it.  Beyond  that,  two  miles  be- 
low, but  still  in  full  view,  was  the  station. 

A  little  toy  train  puffed  up  silently  and 
stopped,  then  went  on.  There  was  a  toy  car- 
riage waiting  there,  probably  the  same  victoria 
which  had  met  me  that  morning.  Two  little  ants 
crawled  into  it.  They  were  men,  of  course,  guests 
of  the  Apthorpes.  One  of  them  was  doubtless 
Fielding  and  the  other  probably  some  friend  of 
his  brought  up  for  the  occasion,  to  see  him 
through  the  ordeal  of  wedlock. 

Beatrice  Apthorpe  was  in  for  it,  apparently. 


102  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

Well,  if  the  bogus  parson  had  seen  fit  to  make 
himself  scarce,  the  real  one  was  in  no  position  to 
establish  his  identity  and  officiate  at  the  ceremony 
the  following  noon.  The  girl  was  no  worse  off 
than  if  Tupper  had  heeded  her  request  and  failed 
to  put  in  an  appearance.  I  had  done  her 
that  much  service  at  least  by  my  madcap 
folly. 

I  drew  out  her  photograph  and  gazed  upon  it 
intently.  I  did  not  like  the  idea  of  seeing  her 
married  to  that  fellow  Fielding,  but  I  could  do 
nothing  to  prevent  it.  I  would  probably  never 
see  her  again,  and  her  picture  was  the  only 
memento  of  my  adventure  I  intended  to  keep. 
I  thought  to  conceal  the  grip,  coat  and  hat  in  a 
hollow  of  the  oak,  where  they  would  be  safe 
enough  until  I  could  arrange  for  their  transfer 
to  their  true  owner.  Hatless  and  in  shirt-sleeves 
I  would  make  my  way  to  a  nearby  town,  say 
Highfield,  and  make  necessary  purchases.  The 
trouble  was,  the  minister  had  my  grip  and  in  it 
the  manuscript  so  prized  by  Carl  Krull. 

I  enjoyed  that  rest.     It  was  the  first  real  rest 


FLIGHT  103 

I  had  had  that  day.  How  pure  the  air  was,  how 
fresh,  how  free! 

"You  infernal  scoundrel,  I  have  you  at  last!" 
Those  were  the  rough  words  that  broke  in  upon 
my  day-dream. 

A  hand  had  seized  me  from  behind,  and  I  was 
being  shaken  violently  by  the  collar.  I  slipped 
out  of  the  frock-coat  like  an  eel,  leaving  it  in  the 
grasp  of  my  assailant,  and  turned  to  face  him. 
It  was  the  Rev.  Charles  W.  Tupper,  of  St. 
Luke's  rectory. 

Ministers  are  but  men,  and  they  must  be  for- 
given if  they  display  the  passions  and  courage 
of  men  when  they  are  goaded  past  endurance. 
The  young  clergyman  had  been  abused  most 
grievously.  I  didn't  blame  him,  but  I  wasn't 
going  to  stand  helpless  and  let  him  pommel  me. 
I  was  human,  too,  and  thought  there  was  no  need 
for  him  to  be  so  rough.  I  had  been  kind  to  him 
and  forgiven  him,  and  there  is  a  limit  to  all  things. 
He  made  me  angry. 

We  didn't  stop  to  argue,  we  just  went  at 
it.  I  know  that  members  of  the  congregation 


104  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

are  apt  to  feel  ugly  after  a  long  church  service, 
before  dining.  That  is  a  matter  of  personal 
observation.  I  have  been  told  that  the  same  is 
true  of  clergymen,  only  more  so.  That  is  purely 
a  matter  of  hearsay,  unless  my  brief  experience 
can  be  counted.  Tupper  had  written  a  sermon 
and  I  had  preached  it ;  between  us  it  had  proved 
a  success.  The  result  was  that  we  were  both  very 
cross.  I  am  afraid  we  let  fall  some  ejaculations 
which  ill  accorded  with  the  sylvan  beauty  of  the 
scene. 

He  drew  blood  from  my  nose  and  I  closed  up 
his  left  eye.  I  regret  to  state  that  we  had  gone 
at  each  other  like  a  pair  of  bruisers.  Having 
vented  our  spleen  by  inflicting  these  personal  in- 
juries we  each  stood  panting  for  breath,  glaring 
at  one  another. 

This  pause  gave  us  time  to  think.  I  knew  I 
couldn't  lick  him  without  being  laid  up  myself 
for  a  week  or  more.  He  was  similarly  situated. 
He  couldn't  thrash  me  without  suffering  more  or 
less  disagreeable  personal  disfigurement. 

If  I  could  have  taught  him  the  lesson  I  thought 


FLIGHT  105 

he  deserved  I  would  have  done  so,  and  then  vis- 
ited him  at  the  hospital  and  brought  him  flowers 
and  books.  I  have  every  reason  to  suppose  he 
would  have  been  just  as  kind  to  me  after  having 
had  the  satisfaction  of  taking  it  out  of  my  hide. 

As  neither  of  us  was  able  to  administer  con- 
dign punishment  without  proportionate  suffer- 
ing, our  Christianity  began  to  reassert  itself. 
What  we  couldn't  do  for  ourselves  the  Lord 
would  surely  do  for  us  in  good  time.  If  you 
can't  lick  a  man  you  can  always  picture  him 
to  yourself  suffering  the  torments  of  the 
damned  in  another  world,  and  it's  a  heap 
of  comfort. 

His  bruised  eye  and  my  twisted  nose  had  also 
served  to  cultivate  a  vast  degree  of  mutual  re- 
spect. Men  are  only  overgrown  boys  in  such 
matters. 

"Perhaps  we  have  been  a  little  hasty,  brother," 
said  the  young  parson,  feeling  of  his  eye. 

"Somewhat  rash  on  the  whole,"  I  admitted, 
holding  my  bleeding  nose. 

"It  would  have  been  far  more  seemly  to  have 


106  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

sat  down  and  talked  over  our  differences  like 
gentlemen,"  he  regretted. 

"It  isn't  too  late."    I  smiled,  and  we  sat  down. 

"I  cannot  understand  you  at  all,"  he  began. 

"I  will  try  to  explain  myself,  then,"  I  said. 

"Why  did  you  take  my  berth  and  bribe  the 
porter?"  he  asked. 

"I  didn't;   it  was  all  a  mistake,"  I  answered. 

"I  thought  so  at  first,  but  your  subsequent  con- 
duct hardly  tallies  with  such  a  theory.  It  seems 
you  are  a  newspaper  man." 

"One  thing  led  to  another,"  I  apologized.  "I 
was  half  asleep  and  thought  I  was  being  taken 
to  a  hotel.  When  I  awoke  I  was  in  a  private 
residence.  I  have  been  trying  to  get  out  of  the 
mess  ever  since." 

I  could  see  the  smile  of  growing  incredulity 
upon  his  face.  He  said  that  any  man  who  had 
the  impudence  to  go  into  another  man's  pulpit 
and  deliver  a  stolen  sermon  as  I  had  done,  with 
the  genuine  minister  sitting  in  a  pew  before  me, 
could  not  plead  innocence. 

We  were  both  growing  angry  about  it,  and 


FLIGHT  107 

the  conference  seemed  likely  to  end  in  another 
encounter.  Neither  of  us  wanted  that,  so  I  said : 
"Well,  what  difference  does  it  make?  The  thing 
is  done  now  and  cannot  be  undone.  Take  your 
property,  give  me  mine,  and  I'll  most  gladly  call 
it  square  and  disappear.  I  will  never  trouble  you 
again,  I  assure  you.  I  wouldn't  be  a  parson  for 
a  hundred  thousand  dollars  a  year." 

"But  where  will  that  leave  me?"  he  asked. 
"Can't  you  see  that  you  have  ruined  me  by  your 
glaring  but  successful  imposture?  No  one  will 
believe  that  I  am  I,  when  they  have  such  reasons 
for  supposing  that  you  are  I." 

"Oh,  that's  easy,  you  can  go  back  to  New 
York.  They  know  us  both  there." 

"But  my  place  in  New  York  is  filled.  I  have 
been  sent  here,  and  here  they  don't  know  the  dif- 
ference between  us,"  protested  the  perplexed 
young  cleric. 

"Well,  send  for  the  bishop,  or  somebody,  and 
get  identified." 

I  was  serious,  but  he  took  it  wrong — seemed  to 
think  I  was  making  a  joke  of  it.  "It  isn't  any 


108  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

laughing  matter,"  he  said.  "Do  you  think  I  am 
going  to  place  myself  in  a  position  so  utterly 
ridiculous?  Just  think  what  a  light  I'd  stand 
in  before  the  good  people  of  my  church!  They 
would  laugh  me  out  of  the  parish." 

I  laughed  myself.  I  couldn't  help  it,  he  looked 
so  upset  and  vexed.  When  a  man  has  once  lost 
his  identity  it  is  not  so  easy  to  step  back  into  the 
old  place,  as  I  was  in  the  end  to  learn  by  sad 
experience. 

"What  do  you  propose  doing  about  it?"  I 
asked,  sobering  down  a  bit.  The  case  had  a  very 
serious  side  to  it,  and  I  could  see  that  the  young 
parson  did  not  appreciate  the  humor  of  the  situa- 
tion. 

"I  propose  that  you  shall  repair  the  wrong  you 
have  done  me  and  make  amends  for  the  outrage 
you  have  committed  upon  me,"  he  replied  firmly. 
"We  will  go  back  to  the  Apthorpes  together,  in 
our  own  proper  persons,  clothed  in  our  own 
proper  garments,  and  explain  the  mistake,  if  mis- 
take it  were." 

"Not  on  your  clerical  tintype!" 


FLIGHT  109 

"Sir!" 

"Pardon  the  vernacular.  The  sentiment  re- 
mains unchanged,  but  if  you  insist  I'll  withdraw 
the  photograph." 

"Why  should  you  refuse  to  do  me  that  simple 
justice?"  he  asked,  frowning  darkly. 

"In  the  first  place,  because  it  might  prove  em- 
barrassing for  me." 

"Oh,  I  wouldn't  let  them  hurt  you." 

"Thank  you  politely.  I  do  not  mean  to  give 
them  the  chance." 

"You  are  guilty,  and  are  afraid  to  face  the 
music  like  a  man  and  a  gentleman." 

"Put  it  that  way,  if  you  like.  By  the  way,  has 
it  occurred  to  you  that  they  wouldn't  believe 
either  of  us?" 

"Why  not?" 

"For  one  reason,  because  Miss  Apthorpe  is 
possessed  of  a  strange  hallucination.  She  thinks 
I  am  you  and  you  are  I,  and  nothing  could  con- 
vince her  to  the  contrary." 

"Absurd!" 

"It  is  a  fact  none  the  less.    She  is  committed 


110  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

to  that  point  of  view.  She  cannot  admit  the 
mistake." 

The  young  clergyman  relapsed  into  silence. 
There  were  difficulties  in  the  way  of  his  rehabili- 
tation which  had  not  at  first  occurred  to  him. 
Beatrice  Apthorpe  did  not  want  him  at  Burg- 
moor,  and  meant  to  keep  him  at  a  distance  for  a 
while  by  fair  means  or  foul.  Still,  he  could  not 
see  any  way  out  of  his  difficulties  which  would 
not  leave  him  in  a  position  far  more  unpleasant. 

"I  shall  have  to  insist  upon  it  all  the  same,"  Jie 
announced  as  the  irrevocable  result  of  his  cogita- 
tions. 

"Insist  upon  what?" 

"Upon  your  returning  with  me  and  putting 
me  right  in  the  eyes  of  the  Apthorpe  family  and 
the  good  people  of  Greenford.  No  other  honor- 
able course  is  open  to  either  of  us." 

"I  do  not  agree  with  you." 

"I  did  not  anticipate  that  you  would,"  he  re- 
plied doggedly,  "but  I  am  going  to  make  you. 
I  shall  follow  you  wherever  you  go,  and  at  the 
first  town  we  reach  I  shall  turn  you  over  to  the 


FLIGHT  111 

police.  Then  I  will  send  for  Mr.  Apthorpe. 
Believe  me,  my  dear  sir,  I  am  in  earnest.  I  have 
made  up  my  mind.  You  must  either  come  with 
me  willingly,  like  a  gentleman,  or  I  shall  compel 
you  to  do  justice  like  a  thief.  How  will  you 
have  it?" 

I  began  rather  to  like  that  dominie.  He  was 
no  milksop;  he  knew  his  rights  and  he  wouldn't 
be  buncoed  or  bluffed  out  of  them.  The  position 
he  took  was  to  me  obnoxious  in  the  extreme,  to 
be  sure,  but  from  his  point  of  view  it  was  the 
right  one. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A  CHANCE  ENCOUNTER 

"Perhaps  we  may  find  some  form  of  com- 
promise," I  suggested. 

"There  can  be  no  compromise,"  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Tupper  insisted  stubbornly. 

"Miss  Apthorpe  won't  have  you  at  Burgmoor; 
she  asked  you  not  to  come  and  gave  you  fair 
warning." 

"You  read  other  people's  letters,  it  seems,"  he 
sneered. 

"Not  at  all.  I  am  in  her  confidence  to  some 
extent,  as  you  have  reason  to  know.  She  is  in 
desperate  straits.  She  objects  to  this  marriage, 
and  for  some  reason  the  family  is  forcing  her 
into  it." 

"She  told  you  that?" 

"Not  exactly.    It  isn't  hard  to  guess.    Much 


A  CHANCE  ENCOUNTER  113 

easier  than  to  imagine  why  you  failed  to  respect 
her  wishes  in  the  matter." 

He  flushed  a  little  at  that.  "I  would  do  any- 
thing in  the  world  to  serve  her,"  he  muttered. 

"Then  why  did  you  come?"  I  demanded. 

"I  had  my  reasons." 

"Undoubtedly." 

"But  I  am  not  accountable  for  them  to  you." 

"Perhaps  not.  None  the  less,  it  would  make 
the  way  out  of  this  mess  much  easier  if  I  knew  all 
the  facts." 

"You  know  all  that  is  necessary." 

"Well,  since  you  refuse  to  enlighten  me,  I  will 
make  my  compromise  proposition  in  the  dark.  It 
is  impossible  for  us  to  go  back  together.  It  would 
make  a  scene  and  probably  we  should  both  be 
turned  out  as  two  of  a  kind." 

He  winced.  He  knew  there  was  a  chance  of  it, 
but  felt  obliged  to  take  the  risk.  "What  then?" 
he  asked  with  some  curiosity. 

"Let  me  go  back  again  and  continue  to  play 
the  game  out.  I  will  prepare  the  way  for  the 
explanation  and  make  it  at  the  most  favorable 


114  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

opportunity.  You  remain  at  the  hotel  here  until 
I  send  for  you." 

"And  how  soon  will  that  be?" 

"Give  me  twenty-four  hours  and  I  will  set  you 
right,  and  get  out  of  the  scrape  myself  into  the 
bargain." 

"Do  you  propose  to  perform  the  marriage- 
Ceremony?" 

"There  will  be  no  marriage,"  I  asserted.  That 
was  true,  as  I  thought.  There  would  be  no  mar- 
riage if  I  officiated. 

The  dominie  considered  the  matter  and  shook 
his  head.  "It  will  not  do,"  he  said.  "I  cannot 
trust  you.  I  have  too  much  at  stake.  While  I 
was  waiting  you  might  disappear,  and  then  I 
might  have  to  call  in  some  one  from  New  York 
to  identify  me,  or  to  go  back  there  in  dis- 
grace." 

"Why  can't  you  trust  me?" 

"Have  I  any  reason  to?" 

"You  have  a  most  excellent  reason,"  I  said 
impressively.  "If  we  cannot  come  to  terms  you 
may  hand  me  over  to  the  police;  but  that  will 


A  CHANCE  ENCOUNTER  115 

not  help  your  case  much  at  present.  Besides, 
you  have  as  much  of  my  property  as  I  have  of 
yours.  How  about  my  possessing  equal  ability 
to  hand  you  over  to  the  police?  Furthermore, 
my  dear  sir,  think  of  the  undesirable  publicity 
for  a  man  of  your  instincts  and  calling.  You 
would  never  hear  the  last  of  it." 

The  last  two  points  told.  After  some  mental 
digestion  of  them,  the  Rev.  Charles  W.  Tupper 
said: 

"What  do  you  want  to  do?" 

"Let  me  go  back  to  Burgmoor,  and  give  me 
twenty-four  hours  to  set  things  to  rights.  I  can 
fix  it  all  up  nicely  in  that  time." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  he  persisted. 

"Stand  by  Miss  Apthorpe  until  she  is  out  of 
danger ;  then  she  can  smooth  out  our  troubles  with 
a  wave  of  her  hand." 

"That  may  prove  more  difficult  than  you  imag- 
ine," rejoined  the  dominie. 

"What  do  you  know  about  it?" 

"Not  much.  There  is  some  mystery,  but  I  am 
not  in  the  secret.  I  had  thought  I  might  help  her 


116  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

myself  in  some  way  when  the  proper  time  came. 
That  is  one  reason  why  I  felt  it  my  duty  to  dis- 
regard her  request.  But  I  had  others.  I  met 
her  last  summer  at  Bath  Beach,  and  I  confess  I 
was  very  much  attracted,  though  she  is  so  far  out 
of  my  reach.  Then  she  wrote  me  requesting  that 
I  refuse  the  call  here.  When  I  received  her  letter 
I  was  already  pledged  to  come.  The  week  before 
I  had  received  a  note  from  Mr.  Fielding,  her 
fiance.  He  said  that  he  had  not  the  pleasure  of 
my  acquaintance,  but  that  I  had  been  selected  as 
the  clergyman  who  was  to  officiate  at  her  wed- 
ding, which  was  to  take  place  at  Burgmoor 
shortly,  and  that  he  was  very  anxious  there 
should  be  no  delay  as  he  was  about  to  sail  for 
Europe.  Therefore  he  must  request  me  to  be  on 
hand  without  fail.  He  enclosed  a  check  for  two 
hundred  dollars.  I  am  poor.  When  her  letter 
came  I  had  already  spent  part  of  the  money. 
The  rest  was  in  the  purse  you  so  graciously  re- 
turned to  me." 

There  was  a  grave  twinkle  in  his  eye  as  he 
referred  to  my  generosity.     He  had  a  sense  of 


A  CHANCE  ENCOUNTER  117 

humor,  had  the  parson.  I  was  growing  to  like 
him. 

"That  actor  chap  foresaw  the  girl  might  play 
some  trick  on  him  and  forestalled  her,"  I  said. 
"It's  a  queer  game  they  are  playing  down  there, 
and  I  wish  I  could  get  to  the  bottom  of  it.  With 
your  help,  I  may." 

"You  will  be  taking  very  long  chances,"  he 
warned. 

"My  dear  fellow,  with  you  for  a  friend  instead 
of  an  enemy  I  am  perfectly  safe.  You  have  no 
notion  how  firmly  my  identity  is  established.  I 
breakfasted  with  the  family  and  talked  about  all 
your  affairs." 

"How  could  you  do  it?" 

"Miss  Apthorpe  gave  me  the  points,  and  luck 
ran  my  way." 

"I  fear  that  young  woman  will  come  to  no  good 
end,"  said  Tupper  disapprovingly.  "She  seems 
to  be  as  false  as  she  is  fair." 

"All  good-looking  women  are  that  way  more 
or  less,"  I  generalized  cynically.  "Besides,  she 
seems  to  be  in  a  bad  scrape,  and  women  will  do 


118  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

all  sorts  of  queer  things  when  driven  to  the  point 

of  desperation." 

"We  are  all  acting  rather  queerly,  and  fate 
seems  to  force  us  to  continue  the  farce,"  said  the 
dominie.  "But  mark  you,  if  I  ever  let  another 
man  sleep  in  my  berth  because  he  looks  tired  and 
I  am  sorry  for  him  I  hope  I  may  get  into  a  still 
worse  pickle." 

"Amen!" 

Having  agreed  upon  this  compromise  arrange- 
ment, we  cemented  our  alliance  by  exchanging 
the  grips  and  their  contents.  He  had  his  baggage 
with  him  still,  having  no  place  where  he  could 
leave  it.  He  had  not  the  good-fortune,  like  my- 
self, of  being  a  welcome  guest.  I  gave  him  back 
his  sermon  and  he  returned  to  me  the  manuscript 
of  the  play,  "Diamonds  Lead,  but  Hearts  are 
Trumps." 

He  let  me  keep  a  couple  of  his  clerical  collars 
and  supplied  a  black  necktie  which  had  been  over- 
looked in  my  haste.  He  also  loaned  me  a  white 
shirt  and  a  soberer  pair  of  socks.  His  feet  were 


A  CHANCE  ENCOUNTER  119 

much  larger  than  mine,  so  we  could  not  exchange 
shoes. 

He  seemed  to  grow  much  interested  in  costum- 
ing my  part  to  better  effect,  and  lent  me  his 
clerical  vest,  taking  my  light  one  in  exchange. 
That  encouraged  me  to  presume  upon  his  good 
nature. 

"Now  you  have  gone  so  far,  couldn't  you  swap 
trousers?" 

He  looked  at  me  in  blank  dismay.  "That 
passes  the  limits  of  good  nature,"  he  said,  shak- 
ing his  head.  "I  want  you  to  succeed,  but  I 
would  rather  face  any  sort  of  disgrace  or  ridicule 
than — than  wear  those  things.  Pardon  my 
speaking  so  frankly.  You  brought  up  the  sub- 
ject, you  know." 

"Oh,  never  mind,"  I  replied  with  affected  care- 
lessness. "While  you  were  about  it  I  thought 
you  might  be  willing  to  throw  in  the  trousers, 
that  was  all." 

"I'd  be  glad  to  oblige  you,"  he  replied  sol- 
emnly, "but  really,  you  couldn't  expect 
that." 


120  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

I  sighed,  but  I  had  played  the  game  success- 
fully so  far,  trousers  and  all,  and  I  thought  I 
could  pull  it  through.  It  did  not  occur  to  me  that 
fresh  complications  might  have  arisen  during  my 
absence. 

It  was  agreed  that  Tupper  should  put  up  at 
the  small  village  hotel  and  remain  there  that 
night.  If  he  heard  nothing  from  me  before  two 
o'clock  the  following  afternoon  he  was  to  walk 
boldly  into  Burgmoor. 

Meanwhile  I  promised  to  keep  him  posted  un- 
less unforeseen  difficulties  arose,  and  to  send  for 
him  at  once  as  soon  as  the  final  explanation  was 
in  order. 

We  shook  hands  in  a  fashion  quite  friendly, 
considering  the  way  in  which  our  interview  had 
begun.  His  eye  was  still  a  bit  discolored  and  my 
nose  somewhat  swollen,  but  otherwise  we  were 
none  the  worse  off  physically. 

Then  he  left  me,  making  his  way  toward  the  vil- 
lage at  the  foot  of  one  side  of  the  hill,  while  I 
took  the  path  toward  the  church  on  the  other 
slope. 


A  CHANCE  ENCOUNTER  121 

As  I  emerged  upon  the  road  I  ran  right  into 
a  phaeton  being  driven  at  a  rapid  pace  by  a  young 
lady  who  looked  woe-begone  and  desperate. 
When  she  saw  me  she  reined  up  suddenly  and 
her  face  was  wreathed  in  smiles. 

"Why  Mr.  Plympton — Mr.  Tupper,  I  mean 
— I  thought  we  had  lost  you!" 

"I  was  just  taking  a  walk  among  the  hills," 
I  apologized. 

"What,  what  is  the  matter  with  your — how  did 
you  hurt  yourself?" 

"I  tripped  and  fell.    Does  it  look  very  bad?" 

"What  a  shame!  No,  a  little  red,  perhaps, 
that's  all.  Won't  you  get  in  and  drive  back  with 
me?  We  shall  be  late  for  lunch,  but  they  were 
still  waiting  for  you  when  I  left." 

I  accepted  the  invitation. 

"Why  did  you  run  away?"  she  said  reproach- 
fully. "I  thought  you  had  promised  to  stand  by 
me.  It  was  mean  to  desert  me  like  that,  when  I 
had  risked  so  much  to  keep  you." 

"It  would  have  been  folly  to  stay,  with  that 
young  clergyman  thirsting  for  revenge.  I  had 


HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

to  arrange  matters  with  him,  or  I  should  never 
have  dared  to  return." 

"You  have  seen  him.  then?" 

"Yes." 

"And  he  will  be  generous,  will  make  no  fuss?" 

"For  the  present  he  will  let  matters  stand  until 
they  can  be  explained." 

"You  are  very  clever,  Mr. — Mr.  Tupper. 
That  is  why  I  have  such  urgent  need  of  your 
help." 

"Not  a  bit;  I  have  been  very  stupid.  It  was 
all  a  mistake  of  the  sleeping-car  porter  and  of  the 
servants,  Miss  Apthorpe." 

"Or  a  smart  trick  on  a  mooning  minister." 

"Don't  you  believe  me,  either?  Remember 
your  own  statement  that  there  are  situations 
where  the  truth  is  impossible  of  belief,  where  one 
is  forced  to  admit  and  act  a  falsehood.  That  has 
been  my  case ;  it  is  my  case  still.  I  have  promised 
that  young  clergyman  to  return  and  explain 
things." 

"Not  right  away?" 


A  CHANCE  ENCOUNTER  123 

"Within  twenty-four  hours." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right.  Lots  of  things  can  hap- 
pen in  twenty-four  hours." 

"Most  anything,  even  the  loss  of  one's  iden- 
tity," I  assented. 

"How  funny!"  she  said,  and  again  I  was 
treated  to  that  musical  laugh. 

"Very  absurd,"  I  admitted  ruefully. 

The  girl  had  cheered  up  wonderfully  since  she 
had  recaptured  her  prisoner.  She  informed  me 
afterwards  that  she  had  waited  anxiously  about 
the  church  until  some  one  told  her  that  I  had 
been  seen  walking  far  up  the  hill.  She  had  made 
up  her  mind  to  try  and  intercept  me  by  driving 
around  through  a  woodland  roadway. 

As  we  approached  Burgmoor  we  reached  the 
point  where  the  road  forked.  Down  the  hill  it 
wound  its  sinuous  way  to  the  station  far  below. 
Up  the  hill  it  ascended  to  the  summer  place  of 
the  Apthorpe  family. 

"We  are  at  the  parting  of  the  ways,"  I  said. 
I  had  taken  the  reins  and  stopped  the  horse. 

"Why  so?"  she  asked  in  alarm. 


124  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

"I  cannot  proceed  in  this  matter  blindfold, 
Miss  Apthorpe.  I  do  not  wish  to  intrude  upon 
your  affairs ;  but  if  I  must  be  concerned  in  them 
it  is  necessary  that  I  should  know  all  the  facts. 
I  am  willing  to  continue  the  adventure,  but  even 
to  oblige  you  and  the  good  young  parson  I  can- 
not proceed  with  my  eyes  shut.  The  way  at  best 
is  full  of  pitfalls,  and  I  need  all  the  light  there 
is  to  guide  me." 

"You  would  not  believe  me,  no  one  will,"  said 
the  girl  disconsolately. 

"I  promise  in  advance  to  place  absolute  faith 
in  every  word  you  say." 

"How  can  you,  when  my  own  father  and 
brother-in-law,  my  own  mother  and  sister  laugh 
my  story  to  scorn?" 

"Because  my  calling  deals  with  the  strange  and 
unusual  in  life.  Nothing  is  impossible  to  a  news- 
paper man,  however  incredible  it  might  seem  to 
others." 

"And  you  will  promise  to  stand  by  me ;  swear 
not  to  desert  me  again,  whatever  happens?" 

I  might  be  running  my  neck  into  a  noose,  but 


A  CHANCE  ENCOUNTER  125 

I  promised  nevertheless,  and,  turning  the  horse 
up  the  hill,  drove  on  toward  Burgmoor. 

"How  could  any  power  on  earth  force  you  to 
marry  against  your  will?"  I  asked  as  we  wound 
up  the  hillside. 

"It  will  take  a  long  while  to  explain  all  the 
ins  and  outs  of  the  matter,"  she  answered. 
"There  is  no  time  now.  We  must  not  be  too 
late  for  lunch  or  they  will  ask  embarrassing  ques- 
tions. I  will  meet  you  in  the  garden  this 
evening,  and  'tell  all.'  I  shall  be  putting  great 
trust  in  you,  Mr.  Plympton." 

"I  shall  not  betray  it,"  I  said,  "though  I  don't 
know  why  you  trust  me." 

"I  trust  you  because  of  some  of  the  things  you 
said  in  the  sermon  this  morning.  The  first  part 
of  it,  the  part  that  made  the  talk." 

"Oh,  that  was  newspaper  theology.  It  won't 
go  in  Greenford,  or  in  any  other  pulpit,  I'm 
afraid." 

"Perhaps  not,"  she  replied  thoughtfully, 
"though  I  think  you  are  mistaken.  Anyway,  I 
like  newspaper  theology;  I  like  newspaper  men." 


126  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

She  looked  at  me  with  an  expression  that  seemed 
to  say,  "I  like  you." 

Basil  Plympton  were  better  never  born  than 
lose  his  heart  to  this  daughter  of  the  Apthorpes, 
married  or  single.  That  was  the  idea  uppermost 
in  my  mind  as  we  turned  into  the  driveway. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  BEST  MAN 

As  Beatrice  Apthorpe  anticipated,  we  were 
late  for  lunch.  They  had  given  us  up  and,  skip- 
ping the  blessing,  had  begun  the  soup.  I  had 
that  much  to  be  thankful  for,  but  other  troubles 
were  in  store  for  me. 

The  company  had  been  augmented  by  two  new 
arrivals.  One  of  these  I  took  to  be  Harry  Field- 
ing. He  was  a  large,  good-looking  man;  but  I 
had  no  time  to  inspect  him  carefully.  The  other 
guest  who  had  come  with  him  claimed  my  whole 
attention. 

Seated  at  the  actor's  elbow,  in  the  midst  of 
this  exclusive  family  circle,  was  a  man  whom  I 
recognized  immediately  as  Samuel  Sears,  a  star 
reporter  for  the  New  York  "Gazette."  We  knew 
each  other  fairly  well. 

Sears  looked  at  me  in  astonishment.    I  gazed 


128  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

upon  him  with  a  bland  stare,  as  though  he  were 
a  perfect  stranger.  Then  he  choked  in  his  soup ; 
took  a  whole  spoonful  of  it  down  his  windpipe,  I 
presume.  He  made  a  disgraceful  exhibition  of 
himself,  and  I  was  justified  in  declining  to 
acknowledge  his  acquaintance. 

As  we  entered  the  family  arose  to  greet  us,  and 
Sears  staggered  to  his  feet,  gasping  and  red  in 
the  face. 

I  was  presented  to  the  newcomers  as  the  Rev. 
Charles  W.  Tupper,  of  St.  Luke's  rectory.  Then 
we  took  our  seats,  a  place  for  Miss  Apthorpe 
having  been  reserved  at  my  side.  The  Apthorpes 
began  talking  about  my  sermon  before  I  was  well 
in  my  chair. 

Sears  stared  at  me  in  bewilderment,  and  I  re- 
turned his  gaze  benevolently,  but  without  a 
shadow  of  recognition.  There  was  nothing  for 
it  but  to  face  him  down  and  out. 

I  rehearsed  the  action  of  the  trustees  of  St. 
Luke's  on  the  Brownlee  bequest,  and  aired  my 
views  of  the  topic  of  tainted  money.  And  the 
sermon,  above  all  things  the  sermon!  I  rubbed 


THE  BEST  MAN  129 

that  into  Samuel  Sears'  moral  consciousness  with 
sand-paper  and  Sapolio.  He  began  to  waver  in 
his  conviction,  and  mopped  his  forehead  in  per- 
plexity. 

Miss  Apthorpe  noticed  that  the  friend  of  her 
fiance  looked  at  me  queerly,  and  she  scented  dan- 
ger. She  backed  up  my  play  with  her  best  trump 
cards,  enlightening  me  deftly  as  to  things  I 
should  know  about  other  people,  and  I  took  her 
pointers  and  enlarged  upon  them. 

But  the  thing  that  stumped  Sears  was  her  con- 
tinual reference  to  our  doings  at  Bath  Beach  the 
previous  summer.  Sam  knew  that  I  had  been  in 
Ne\^  York  City  all  last  summer,  except  for  three 
weeks  spent  at  a  resort  in  New  Jersey.  It  was 
clear  that  I  could  not  have  been  in  two  places  so 
distant  at  one  time.  It  was  also  evident  that  the 
young  clergyman  who  resembled  his  friend  so 
strikingly  was  an  old  acquaintance  of  Miss  Ap- 
thorpe's.  Sears  was  beside  himself.  Clever  as 
he  is,  he  could  not  make  it  out. 

Then  they  began  a  theok>gical  discussion  and 
I  was  right  on  deck;  I  had  learned  my  lesson. 


130  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

No  more  heresy  for  me;  I  couldn't  afford  the 
luxury.  To  even  things  up  and  make  mvself 
solid  with  these  pillars  of  the  Episcopal  Church  I 
was  so  orthodox  that  I  fairly  smelled  of  sulphur 
and  brimstone.  I  was  for  fore-ordination,  pre- 
destination and  even  ventured  to  postulate  infant 
damnation.  I  condemned  the  population  of  the 
globe  from  the  creation  of  man  to  the  Christian 
era  to  eternal  torments.  Buddha,  Confucius, 
Aristotle,  Socrates,  Epictetus  and  all  the  rest  of 
them  I  sent  to  swim  in  the  boiling  lake.  I  re- 
duced the  number  of  the  elect  to  the  smallest 
possible  minimum.  I  thinned  out  the  population 
of  paradise  until  it  was  no  bigger  than  that  of 
the  village  of  Greenford.  When  I  had  finished 
my  forecast  of  the  census  on  the  day  of  judgment 
there  were  hardly  enough  saints  left  to  make  a  re- 
spectable procession  at  a  masonic  funeral. 

Sears  began  to  perceive  marked  differences  be- 
tween me  and  his  friend  of  the  "Express,"  even 
in  personal  appearance.  For  one  thing,  he  no- 
ticed that  my  nose  was  bigger  and  redder,  so  he 
told  me  afterwards.  He  liked  Basil  Plympton, 


THE  BEST  MAN  131 

but  the  Rev.  Charles  Tupper  was  too  bloodthirsty 
altogether. 

That  I  was  the  Rev.  Charles  W.  Tupper,  of 
St.  Luke's  rectory,  was  established  by  proof 
irrefutable.  There  could  be  no  question  about  it. 
Yet,  barring  my  enlarged  proboscis,  I  was  Basil 
Plympton,  of  the  New  York  "Express,"  to  a  hair. 
Could  he  refuse  to  credit  the  evidence  of  his  own 
senses?  Had  we  not  met  frequently  during  the 
last  two  years? 

It  was  a  hard  proposition.  All  he  could  do 
was  to  watch  and  bide  his  time.  While  I  was 
making  good  I  fenced  about  warily  to  discover 
how  Sam  Sears,  of  all  people,  came  to  be  a  guest 
of  the  Apthorpes.  The  solution  was  not  difficult. 

Harry  Fielding  knew  him  well  and  had 
brought  him  to  act  as  his  best  man ;  but  the  Ap- 
thorpes were  evidently  unaware  of  his  newspaper 
affiliations.  As  the  wedding  was  supposed  to  be 
strictly  private,  with  all  representatives  of  the 
press  rigidly  excluded,  this  maneuver  on  the  part 
of  Fielding  was  the  worst  sort  of  bad  faith. 

Incidentally  it  threw  a  side-light  on  the  mys- 


HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

tery  itself.  The  family  had  published  the  engage- 
ment far  and  wide,  but  wanted  the  wedding  quiet 
and  were  going  to  bundle  the  bride  and  groom 
off  to  Europe  immediately  after.  Fielding,  on 
the  other  hand,  wanted  to  keep  the  wedding  and 
his  movements  afterward  in  the  limelight. 

Miss  Apthorpe,  it  would  seem,  did  not  wish 
to  be  married  at  all,  but  was  under  some  sort  of 
compulsion  and  dared  not  openly  rebel.  Yet,  if 
actually  brought  to  the  point  she  undoubtedly 
stood  ready  to  back  out  at  the  last  moment  and 
to  defy  everybody. 

The  situation  was  peculiar  in  the  extreme,  but 
not  so  strange  as  to  afford  no  rational  explana- 
tion; and  this  she  had  promised  to  give  me  that 
evening.  If  I  could  only  make  my  imposture 
hold  its  own  with  Sam  Sears  I  might  yet  save  the 
day. 

Of  the  two  of  us,  my  position  for  the  time  being 
was  the  better  assured.  I  knew  him;  he  merely 
suspected  me.  Neither  of  us  had  any  business 
to  be  where  we  were.  I  could  expose  him  at  will. 
He  would  find  some  difficulty  in  tearing  off  my 


THE  BEST  MAN  133 

mask,  even  should  he  finally  make  up  his  mind 
that  I  wore  one. 

Nevertheless  he  could  do  much  mischief,  if  he 
chose.  A  mere  suspicion,  a  plausible  doubt 
excited  in  the  actor's  mind  would  serve  to  make 
him  set  inquiries  afoot  and  be  fatal  to  Miss  Ap- 
thorpe  and  myself.  Sam  Sears  also  would  un- 
questionably make  investigations  on  his  own 
account. 

Backed  up  by  the  young  lady  and  the  clergy- 
man I  had  thought  myself  fairly  secure  for  a 
few  hours.  I  had  not  reckoned  on  Sam.  He 
hadn't  figured  on  me,  either.  He  had  fancied 
himself  assured  of  the  inside  track  for  the  "Ga- 
zette "  in  the  Apthorpe  matter,  and  now  saw  him- 
self in  danger  of  being  shunted  upon  a  siding, 
provided  always  Tupper  wasn't  Tupper,  but 
Plympton. 

At  this  crisis  in  my  affairs  Master  Gosse  tried 
his  hand  on  me  again.  Master  Gosse  was  the 
most  dangerous  logician  for  his  size  I  had  ever 
met.  The  ice  was  altogether  too  thin  just  then 
to  risk  another  bout  with  that  juvenile  inquisi- 


134  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

tor.  I  framed  one  comprehensive  rejoinder  to  all 
his  questions,  and  stuck  to  that  as  long  as  pos- 
sible. 

"Mr.  Tupper,  why  can't  hens  fly  like  birds?" 
he  demanded.  I  might  have  undertaken  an  in- 
structive discourse  on  the  hen  with  any  other 
youngster,  but  I  had  learned  my  lesson  and 
learned  it  well.  I  didn't  dare.  Some  trap  lurked 
in  the  simplest  query.  "Ask  your  mother  about 
it,  my  young  friend,"  I  said,  with  my  most  cler- 
ical smile. 

That  kept  him  still  for  a  moment.  Then  he 
sprang  another.  "Say,  Mr.  Tupper,  is  Beulah- 
land  in  South  America?" 

"Your  mother  is  an  authority  on  Beulahland, 
my  boy." 

"Could  God  go  skating  on  the  Fourth  of  July 
if  He  wanted  to?" 

"Ask  your  mother." 

"What  makes  one  end  of  an  egg  smaller  than 
the  other?" 

"Ask  your  mother." 

Master  Gosse  wasn't  accustomed  to  this  sort 


THE  BEST  MAN  135 

of  a  squelching,  and  eyed  me  revengefully.  He 
bided  his  time  and  reflected.  When  he  had 
thought  of  a  question  impossible  to  be  disposed  of 
by  the  maternal  referendum,  he  produced  it. 

"Mr.  Tupper,"  he  said,  "what  makes  a  min- 
ister leave  church  by  a  back  window  when  every 
one  else  goes  out  by  the  front  door?" 

That  young  scamp  was  one  too  many  for  me. 
He  always  came  out  on  top,  somehow.  The 
others  listened  breathlessly  for  my  reply.  I 
couldn't  say,  "Ask  your  mother,"  for  Mrs.  Gosse 
evidently  would  have  made  the  same  inquiry  of 
me  had  she  dared.  Sam  Sears  was  all  attention. 

"It  is  not  a  customary  thing  to  do,  my  child," 
I  said,  with  fatherly  tolerance,  "but  I  learned  a 
poor  old  woman  was  ill  and  I  was  in  a  hurry  to 
make  her  a  visit.  If  I  had  gone  out  the  other  way 
I  should  have  been  detained.  I  was  late  for  lunch 
as  it  was." 

"A  poor  old  woman  ill — who  was  it,  pray?" 
inquired  the  kind-hearted  Mrs.  Apthorpe. 

How  did  I  know?  I  could  have  wrung  the 
neck  of  that  young  Gosseling. 


136  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

Beatrice  pulled  me  out  of  the  mire,  as  usual. 
"Old  Mrs.  Flannigan,"  she  explained.  "I  met 
Mr.  Tupper  returning  from  his  visit.  She  lives 
right  over  the  hill,  two  miles  from  the  church, 
you  know." 

"You  are  evidently  going  to  be  a  friend  to  our 
sick  and  poor,  Mr.  Tupper.  I  shall  have  to  for- 
give you  for  being  tardy,  after  all,"  said  Mrs. 
Apthorpe,  with  moist  eyes. 

Sears  had  been  listening  with  marked  at- 
tention; but  after  that  he  sank  back  in  his  chair 
and  looked  wilted.  I  had  turned  out  such  a  saint 
that  he  was  ashamed  of  himself. 

"Mr.  Tupper,"  began  Master  Gosse  again, 
and  a  cold  shiver  went  down  my  spine.  Mrs. 
Gosse,  however,  now  awoke  to  the  fact  that  1 
was  being  annoyed  and  put  a  stop  to  the  perse- 
cution. I  didn't  say,  "Never  mind,  he's  a  bright 
child,"  or  anything  like  that.  I  knew  better. 

But  Sam  Sears  had  been  collecting  his  wits 
and  now  unmasked  his  batteries  and  opened  fire. 
"Mr.  Tupper,"  he  queried,  "do  you  happen  to 
know  a  man  named  Basil  Plympton?" 


THE  BEST  MAN  137 

"Of  the  New  York  'Express'?" 

"The  same." 

"Slightly;  by  reputation  only.    Do  you?" 

"I  did— once." 

"I  have  had  a  number  of  requests  from  various 
newspapers  for  permission  to  send  men  here," 
put  in  Apthorpe.  "I  have  advised  them  all  that 
the  marriage  is  purely  a  private  matter,  and  that 
the  public  is  not  concerned  with  it  in  any 
way." 

"Not  in  the  least  degree,"  observed  Fielding 
pompously. 

"We  must  look  out  that  none  of  these  cattle 
presume  to  intrude  upon  our  privacy,"  remarked 
Apthorpe. 

"They  are  very  persistent  fellows,"  observed 
Gosse.  "I  think  one  of  them  was  at  church  this 
morning.  He  eyed  us  all  with  the  impudent  and 
vulgar  curiosity  of  his  calling." 

"You  don't  say  so!"  cried  his  wife  in  alarm. 

"Awful!"  exclaimed  Beatrice,  with  a  roguish 
side  glance  at  me. 

"What  kind  of  a  looking  fellow  was  he?"  asked 


138  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

Samuel  Sears,  who  was  evidently  very  uncom- 
fortable. 

"He  wore  a  loud  jacket  and  carried  a  slouch 
hat,"  replied  Gosse.  "I  recognized  him  for  a  re- 
porter by  his  nervous  air  and  peculiarly  irreve- 
rent aspect.  He  can  seldom  have  been  inside  of 
a  church;  he  scowled  at  our  good  divine  all 
through  the  sermon." 

Poor  Tupper!  How  clothes  and  environment 
do  make  the  man.  And  he  thought  these  good 
people  would  receive  him  as  a  genuine  parson 
after  that! 

"I'll  have  the  gardener  instructed  to  put  him 
out  if  he  dares  intrude  here,"  snorted  Apthorpe. 

"If  you  mean  the  man  who  sat  at  the  back  of 
the  church,"  ventured  Miss  Beatrice  Apthorpe, 
"I  think  I  recognized  him." 

"Who  was  he?"  asked  her  father. 

"Basil  Plympton,  of  the  New  York  'Ex- 
press/ "  declared  that  veracious  young  lady. 

Sears  upset  a  glass  of  water  at  his  elbow.  His 
clumsiness  was  really  most  annoying. 


THE  BEST  MAN  139 

"How  did  you  happen  to  know  him,  dear?" 
asked  her  mother. 

"I  have  often  seen  his  picture  in  magazine  ar- 
ticles on  dramatic  criticism,  and  he  has  been 
pointed  out  to  me.  That  was  two  years  ago, 
though;  he  may  have  changed." 

"How  did  he  look,  the  man  in  the  church?"  in- 
quired Samuel. 

"He  had  a  long  nose  and  a  pale  face,"  replied 
the  daring  Miss  Apthorpe.  Why  could  she  not 
leave  well  enough  alone?  She  was  very  clever, 
but  sometimes  cleverness  overreaches  itself. 

"I  did  not  notice  that,"  said  Gosse.  "On  the 
contrary,  I  thought  him  rather  fat  and  flabby." 

Sam  pricked  up  his  ears  again.  The  dis- 
crepancies were  too  perceptible.  Not  only  this, 
but  the  girl  had  drawn  his  suspicions  upon  her. 
If  she  was  in  the  deal  it  was  very  plain  that  I 
would  have  no  trouble  in  mystifying  all  the  rest. 
I  knew  Sam  Sears  to  be  shrewd  enough  to  miss 
no  obvious  pointer  like  that.  It  was  essential 
to  carry  the  war  into  Africa.  That  young  man 
was  looking  for  trouble. 


140  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

"Speaking  of  resemblances,"  I  said  slowly,  so 
that  all  present  should  fix  their  attention  upon 
him,  "a  man  was  pointed  out  to  me  not  long  ago 
as  being  a  prominent  newspaper  writer  who 
strongly  reminded  me  of  you,  Mr.  Sears." 

The  blow  was  unexpected  and  right  from  the 
shoulder.  Sears  winced,  shook  his  head  and  gave 
me  a  beseeching  look.  He  suddenly  appreciated 
that,  were  his  suspicions  well  founded,  I  still  had 
the  upper  hand  of  him  and  could  have  him  ex- 
pelled with  but  scant  ceremony,  if  I  but  said  the 
word. 

I  did  not  want  to  do  that;  it  was  risky.  He 
would  be  sure  to  retaliate.  Besides,  it  wasn't 
professional  ethics.  I  merely  thought  to  show 
my  hand  sufficiently  to  shut  him  up  for  a  season, 
and  it  worked  very  well.  For  the  rest  of  the 
meal  Sammy  was  the  nicest,  the  politest,  the  most 
quiet  and  subdued  man  you  ever  saw.  But  the 
question  was:  "How  long  would  he  remain  like 
that?" 

The  meal  came  to  an  end  and  the  entire  party 
adjourned  to  the  veranda.  I  engaged  Fielding  in 


THE  BEST  MAN  141 

conversation  and  soon  sized  him  up  for  the  mat- 
inee-girl-favorite type  I  had  thought  him.  Yet 
he  was  a  man  of  parts  in  a  superficial  and  social 
way,  and  one  of  a  peculiarly  engaging  person- 
ality. He  reminded  me  strongly  of  Steerforth, 
in  "David  Copper-field." 

He  was  a  big,  handsome  chap,  just  the  sort  to 
attract  a  young  girl ; especially  one  who  loved  fun. 
He  was  bright  in  his  talk,  and  told  stories  cleverly. 

I  had  several  plans  revolving  in  my  head.  To 
work  them  out  properly  it  would  be  necessary 
for  me  to  break  away  from  the  assembled  com- 
pany for  an  hour  or  so.  I  maneuvered  a  little 
and  managed  to  whisper  to  Beatrice  Apthorpe: 
"I  must  go  to  the  station  at  once.  Do  not  fear, 
I  am  going  to  stand  by  you.  I  do  not  need  watch- 
ing any  more." 

She  made  some  excuse  and  re-entered  the 
house.  A  moment  later  I  followed.  She  piloted 
me  to  a  side  door,  whence  I  could  reach  the  road 
without  coming  into  view. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  she  asked. 

"Only  a  little  work  on  the  wires,"  I  replied. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  GARMENT  OF  BETRAYAL 

On  the  way  to  the  station  I  met  the  Rev. 
Charles  W.  Tupper  wandering  about  the  country 
like  a  disembodied  spirit,  with  an  air  so  dejected 
and  a  face  so  forlorn  that  I  felt  acutely  sorry  for 
him. 

"Hello!"  I  cried.  "Cheer  up.  Your  innings 
is  soon  coming." 

"It's  all  well  enough  for  you  to  talk,  but  if  you 
were  in  my  place  you  wouldn't  think  it  so  much 
fun,"  responded  the  dominie.  He  was  right;  I 
was  having  all  the  excitement.  I  had  no  time  to 
think  about  things  or  to  suffer  from  ennui.  Up 
to  date  my  vacation  had  been  a  glittering  success, 
and  I  was  enjoying  it  hugely. 

But  to  be  robbed  of  your  identity  and  to  be  un- 
able to  regain  it  when  you  want  to  is  a  trying  ex- 
perience. I  went  through  it  later  and  know 
whereof  I  speak.  The  hour  was  to  come  when  I 


THE  GARMENT  OF  BETRAYAL    143 

would  have  given,  for  a  brief  but  vivid  interval, 
all  I  had  or  hoped  for,  to  be  recognized  and  iden- 
tified for  my  true  self  by  some  respectable  author- 
ity. 

"How  are  you  coming  out?"  he  asked. 

"It's  pretty  hard  sledding,"  I  confessed. 
"Fielding  brought  up  a  newspaper  chap  with  him 
as  best  man,  and  I  am  afraid  there  are  drifts 
ahead." 

"Does  he  know  you?" 

"He  knows  Basil  Plympton  like  a  brother,  but 
as  yet  he  is  a  bit  perplexed  about  me.  We  are 
all  on  thin  ice,  though,  and  it  may  give  way  under 
our  feet  any  moment." 

The  young  parson  seemed  frightened.  "Let's 
drop  it  and  both  go  back  to  New  York  to-night," 
he  said. 

"I  would  have  agreed  to  that  gladly  enough 
up  on  the  hill  this  noon,"  I  replied,  "but  you 
wouldn't  have  it  that  way.  Now  it  is  too  late.  I 
have  given  the  young  lady  my  word  of  honor  to 
remain." 

"But  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  the  other 


144  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

newspaper  fellow?  He  will  be  sure  to  recognize 
you  sooner  or  later,  and  then  he  will  expose  us. 
I  wish  I  had  never  let  you  go  back." 

"That  is  hind-sight.    We  can't  help  it  now." 
"Easily  enough;  chloroform  him,  perhaps." 
The  young  minister  started.     "Oh,  don't  do 
that!"  he  cried. 

He  seemed  so  "easy"  I  couldn't  resist  the  temp- 
tation to  "string"  him  a  bit. 

"But  how  will  you  dispose  of  your  rival?" 
"Oh,  I  won't  hurt  him,"  I  said,  with  be- 
coming gravity.  "He  is  nervous.  A  narcotic 
would  have  a  soothing  effect,  and  would  do  him 
a  world  of  good.  We  have  to  work  all  sorts  of 
tricks  in  our  trade,  you  know." 

"I  am  sure  there  is  some  better  way,"  said  the 
cleric  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"Well,  we'll  see,"  I  admitted.  "If  things  are 
going  slow  and  you  want  some  real  excitement, 
think  up  a  scheme  yourself.  I'll  lure  him  to  the 
back  garden  gate  late  this  evening,  and  we'll  find 
some  method  of  putting  him  out  of  harm's  way." 
"I  will  try  to  think  of  something,"  he  promised.- 


THE  GARMENT  OF  BETRAYAL    145 

"All  right,  if  you  care  to  bother,"  I  replied 
carelessly. 

"But  won't  it  make  trouble  if  we  do  anything 
to  him  at  all?" 

"Trouble?  Make  trouble?  My  dear  fellow,  if 
we  put  this  thing  through  to  a  finish  and  escape 
the  electric-chair  we  are  lucky." 

He  laughed  at  that,  and  I  supposed  he  saw 
that  I  was  merely  joking  and  had  no  real  inten- 
tion of  doing  mischief  to  Mr.  Sears. 

"Keep  cheerful,"  I  added,  as  we  parted. 
"When  it's  all  over,  I'll  make  you  famous.  This 
morning's  sermon  will  be  published  in  the 
'Express'  anyhow — your  part  of  it,  that  is." 

He  went  off  with  his  face  all  aglow.  He  had 
his  ambitions,  and  the  mere  suggestion  of  seeing 
himself  in  print  seemed  to  add  three  inches  to 
his  stature. 

I  entered  the  station  and  made  friends  with 
the  ticket-agent,  who  was  also  the  telegraph- 
operator. 

I  sent  a  message  and  fee  to  Haskin  &  Hall, 
leading  criminal  lawyers  of  Boston.  It  read: 


146  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

"Advise  effect  of  marriage  solemnized  by  un- 
authorized party.  Is  it  criminal  offense?  Is  the 
marriage  binding?  Wire  full  particulars."  I 
signed  Tupper's  name  to  that  telegram. 

Then  I  wired  Carl  Krull  at  Hilltown:  "Come 
to  Greenford  on  nine  fifty-five  train  to-morrow. 
Have  discovered  authoress  of  play.  Go  to  Ap- 
thorpe  residence.  Inquire  for  Rev.  Charles  W. 
Tupper,  of  St.  Luke's  rectory.  No  matter  what 
I  say  or  do,  call  me  by  that  name  only.  Will 
explain  later." 

Carl  was  a  great  success  in  his  own  line,  but 
was  ultra-German,  and  often  thickheaded  in  other 
matters.  Before  the  wedding  I  wanted  to  have 
a  talk  with  him.  He  knew  Fielding  had  brought 
him  to  the  front,  and  was  now  his  manager.  If 
any  man  on  earth  could  control  the  actor  that 
man  was  Carl  Krull.  At  any  rate,  he  would 
be  anxious  to  meet  Beatrice  Apthorpe  and  secure 
the  right  to  produce  her  play. 

In  all  this  it  never  occurred  to  me  what  a  box 
I  was  nailing  myself  into. 

As  I  left  the  station  I  stepped  right  into  the 


THE  GARMENT  OF  BETRAYAL    147 

arms  of  Sam  Sears.  He  started  guiltily.  He 
also  had  designs  on  the  telegraph-operator,  but 
he  didn't  want  me  around  while  he  was  making 
agonized  inquiries  concerning  a  certain  young 
clergyman  and  his  whereabouts. 

"Basil  Plympton,  you  are  a  dandy!"  It  was 
in  this  rude  vernacular  that  Samuel  saw  fit  to  ac- 
cost me.  It  hurt  my  clerical  dignity. 

"Sir!"  I  said,  with  an  indignant  stare. 

"Oh,  let  up,  old  man!  Do  you  think  that  I  am 
a  fool?" 

"I  really  do  not  understand  you,  brother." 

"Call  me  sister,"  facetiously  suggested  Mr. 
Sears. 

"My  dear  young  man,  you  talk  very 
strangely." 

Seeing  that  his  unseemly  mirth  was  not  to  be  . 
checked  by  my  art  of  meek  forbearance  and  that 
the  man  really  thought  me  funny,  I  turned  my 
back  upon  him  in  disgust  and  walked  away  with 
the  pompous  stride  of  offended  dignity. 

"Wait,"  he  called  after  me.    "I  was  going  to 


148  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

wire  for  certain  information;  but  I  don't  need 
it  now." 

We  walked  on  for  half  a  mile  in  silence.  I 
was  thinking  hard.  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to 
stick  to  my  disguise,  if  possible.  Sam  Sears 
might  suspect  all  he  pleased.  As  long  as  he 
wasn't  cock-sure  he  would  hold  his  tongue  and 
await  developments. 

"To  think  of  it!"  he  resumed.  "Preaching  a 
sermon,  actually  holding  forth  from  the  pulpit. 
Basil,  weren't  you  afraid  the  lightning  might 
be  sent  down  from  heaven  and  destroy  you  in 
your  blasphemy?" 

"How  long  is  this  sort  of  thing  to  continue?" 
I  asked,  with  some  show  of  irritation.  Then  I 
bethought  myself  and  treated  him  to  a  look  full 
of  forgiveness  and  brotherly  love. 

"You  will  be  the  death  of  me  with  that  bland, 
clerical  smile  of  yours,  Basil,"  he  cried,  doubling 
up  with  convulsive  merriment. 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  walk  on  and 
ignore  his  jibes,  but  I  had  a  very  unclerical  im- 


THE  GARMENT  OF  BETRAYAL    149 

pulse  to  kick  him.  It  would  have  given  me  a  lot 
of  satisfaction  just  then. 

He  stumbled  on  up  the  hill  after  me,  all  out  of 
breath  and  chuckling  to  himself  without  a 
let-up. 

Another  half-mile  was  passed  in  this  fashion. 

"See  here,  Basil  Plympton,"  he  said  at  length, 
"we  must  come  to  some  understanding,  make 
some  agreement.  I'd  be  willing  to  let  you  alone, 
if  you  would  not  interfere  with  me.  But  I  can't 
let  you  go  on  to  the  point  of  officiating  at  the  wed- 
ding. You  are  perfectly  capable  of  doing  it  and 
then  writing  it  up  afterwards.  Can't  you  see 
what  a  mess  you  are  getting  into?" 

Still  I  smiled  upon  him  in  placid  disdain.  I 
was  very  anxious  to  draw  him  out  and  learn  his 
views. 

"You  have  fooled  the  Apthorpes,"  he  con- 
tinued, "you  have  managed  to  trick  a  poor  par- 
son out  of  his  own  identity  and  hide  him  away 
where  he  can't  be  found.  You  have  bamboozled 
a  whole  churchful  of  people.  You  have  hypno- 
tized Miss  Apthorpe.  But  it  won't  go.  I  was 


150  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

puzzled ;  I  might  have  been  fooled  altogether  but 
for  one  thing.  Basil,  I  may  not  know  you,  even 
now.  But  my  dear  boy,  I  know  your  trousers!" 

Oh,  my  trousers,  my  conspicuous  London 
trousers,  they  had  betrayed  me!  Sam  was  right. 
The  game  was  up.  I  acknowledged  the  fact  with 
a  sickly  grin.  Sam  Sears  did  not  suspect  merely. 
He  knew! 

"Hush,"  I  whispered,  and  looked  about  in 
alarm,  but  we  were  alone. 

"Never  fear,  old  man,  we'll  work  this  thing  up 
together.  I  won't  bother  you  so  long  as  you 
agree  to  bring  a  genuine  parson  before  to-morrow 
noon." 

"Oh,  that's  all  attended  to;  he  is  coming,"  I 
assured  him. 

"Then  you  did  not  propose  to  marry  them 
yourself?" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it." 

"You  are  capable  of  anything— anything 
whatever." 

"You  flatter.  Tupper  was  ill  and  let  me  come 
in  his  place.  Miss  Apthorpe  understands.  A 


THE  GARMENT  OF  BETRAYAL    151 

genuine,  unadulterated  article  is  to  be  imported 
for  the  occasion  to-morrow.  I  shall  only  assist." 

"Who  is  the  real  thing?" 

"The  Rev.  Hogarth  Applethwaite,  of  Hallam 
Manor,  Devonshire." 

"An  Englishman?" 

"Sounds  like  it." 

"Friend  of  Tupper's?" 

"Of  course." 

"Does  Fielding  know  him?" 

"He  wiU  be  able  to  satisfy  Mr.  Fielding." 

"Look  here,  Plympton.  This  is  all  rather 
queer.  I  want  things  to  be  right.  What's  up?" 

Sam  Sears  was  a  hard  man  to  fool,  as  he  had 
already  demonstrated.  He  was  fast  driving  me 
into  a  corner.  I  dared  not  confide  in  him.  He 
was  Harry  Fielding's  friend  even  more  than 
mine,  and  would  stand  by  the  actor  through  thick 
and  thin  in  this  affair.  He  was  indeed  a  thorn  in 
the  flesh.  I  could  not  trust  him  and  I  could  not 
deceive  him  successfully.  All  I  could  do  was  to 
play  for  time  and  trust  to  luck. 

"There  is  a  lot  to  this  business  that  you  are  not 


152  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

onto,  Sam,"  I  said  mysteriously.  "There'll  be  a 
big  scarehead  in  it  before  we  get  through.  There 
is  no  time  now,  but  I  will  let  you  in  on  it  and  we 
will  trade  pointers.  Meet  me  in  the  garden  late 
this  evening,  and  I'll  give  you  something  to  think 
about." 

He  had  to  be  satisfied  with  that,  as  we  were 
rapidly  approaching  Burgmoor.  Fielding  and 
his  fiancee  were  standing  under  the  rustic  arch 
of  the  gate.  They  did  not  look  like  a  happy 
couple. 

She  was  talking  rapidly  and  gesticulating  ve- 
hemently. He  was  shaking  his  head.  Was  she 
making  a  last  vain  appeal  for  mercy?  It  certainly 
looked  like  it,  and  my  heart  went  out  to  her. 

As  we  joined  them  she  dropped  behind  with 
me,  leaving  Sam  Sears  and  the  happy  bride- 
groom to  walk  on  together.  Something  in  the 
girl's  face  told  me  that  she  must  speak  to  me 
privately  and  at  once,  at  all  hazards. 

She  laid  her  little  hand  on  my  sleeve  and  de- 
tained me  at  the  gate  until  the  two  men  were  out 
of  earshot. 


THE  GARMENT  OF  BETRAYAL    153 

"What's  the  matter?  Don't  worry;  I'll  fix 
him,"  I  said,  nodding  toward  Sears. 

"Oh,  he  doesn't  count  now;  we  are  lost  any- 
way," she  whispered. 

"What  has  happened?" 

"The  bishop  is  here." 

"The  bishop?" 

"Yes,  Bishop  Hungerford." 

"Hungerford?  I  know  him.  A  dear  old  man. 
Most  eighty  and  near-sighted.  I  interviewed 
him  once." 

"Worse  and  worse.  But  it  doesn't  matter.  He 
knows  Mr.  Tupper.  What  shall  we  do?" 

"What's  he  here  for?" 

"Mr.  Dobbs  and  the  wardens  say  your  sermon 
was  heresy;  heresy  of  the  worst,  most  virulent 
kind.  It  was  the  first  part,  your  part,  the  part  I 
liked." 

"The  idiots !  How  did  they  happen  to  lay  their 
hands  on  the  bishop  so  soon?" 

"He  was  confirming  a  class  at  Highfield  and 
they  drove  over  for  him.  Oh,  they  are  up  in  arms 
about  it,  I  can  tell  youl" 


154  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

"What's  the  fuss,  anyhow?  What  sacred  doc- 
trine have  I  denied,  I  should  like  to  know?" 

"It's  the  resurrection  of  the  body.  They  claim 
you  dispute  that.  They  declare  you  have  struck 
a  blow  against  the  foundations  of  the  Church  and 
of  the  Christian  religion.  They  are  having  a 
great  scene  over  it  on  the  veranda.  Papa  has 
been  trying  to  take  your  side,  but  Bishop  Hun- 
gerford  is  against  you." 

"Humph." 

"Poor  Mr.  Tupper!" 

"It  is  rough  on  Tupper.  I  am  afraid  it  is  all 
up  with  us,  but  I  must  stand  by  Tupper  and  de- 
fend his  views  of  theology  as  I  have  expounded 
them." 

"You  will  be  exposed,  and  we  shall  all  be  dis- 
graced. I'd  almost  prefer  to  marry  Mr.  Field- 
ing and  be  done  with  it.  But  he  has  been  horrid 
to  me.  Things  seem  to  be  growing  more  compli- 
cated every  minute.  Can't  you  think  of  some- 
thing?" 

"Don't  worry.    Keep  up  your  courage.    If  I 


THE  GARMENT  OF  BETRAYAL    155 

could  fool  Sam  Sears  for  half  an  hour  I  can  pull 
the  wool  over  the  eyes  of  the  bishop,  I  imagine. 
I'll  chance  it,  anyhow." 

"Mr.  Sears  knows  you,  then?  I  feared  he 
recognized  you  at  dinner,  but  thought  we  con- 
vinced him  by  our  talk." 

"We  did,  and  all  would  have  gone  well  if  he 
hadn't  recognized  my  trousers." 

"They  are  a  bit — well,  gay.  For  a  minister,  I 
mean,  of  course,"  she  said,  looking  down  upon 
their  gaudy  splendors  demurely. 

"Gay — they  are  loud;  they  shriek  unto  the 
hilltops;  the  Berkshires  echo  with  the  racket." 

As  we  came  in  sight  of  the  veranda,  we  stopped 
talking.  From  an  animated  group  there  assem- 
bled loud  voices  greeted  us. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  BISHOP 

Mr.  Dobbs  was  laying  down  the  law  while  Mr. 
Gosse  and  Mr.  Apthorpe  were  protesting.  The 
bishop  was  evidently  much  disturbed,  his  shaggy 
eyebrows  being  drawn  over  his  kind  old  eyes. 
Two  pompous-looking  Berkshire  farmers  were 
putting  in  a  word  now  and  then  to  back  up 
Dobbs,  who  was  sweeping  all  before  him. 

We  walked  up  the  steps  just  behind  Fielding 
and  Sam  Sears,  who  had  been  waiting  for  us. 

The  minute  he  saw  the  bishop  Sears  knew  that 
I  was  up  against  it,  and  he  gave  me  a  grin  of 
commiseration.  He  evidently  thought  I  was 
done  for,  and  he  was  glad  of  it.  He  just  stood 
apart  from  the  crowd  to  enjoy  things  all  by  him- 
self. 

Now,  if  I  had  been  a  genuine  minister  I  should 
have  been  frightened  half  to  death.  It  was  pretty 


THE  BISHOP  157 

rough  treatment  to  pile  the  bishop  and  the  war- 
dens on  me  the  very  first  Sunday,  and  haul  me 
over  the  coals  for  heresy  before  my  sermon  was 
cold.  As  I  wasn't  subject  to  be  fried  upon  the 
ecclesiastical  griddle  personally,  the  whole  thing 
amused  me  immensely.  But  it  came  home  to  me 
as  never  before  how  very  careful  a  parson  has  to 
be,  and  why  he  can't  afford  to  talk  too  much.  If 
every  young  man  was  at  liberty  to  start  a  new 
schism  there  would  be  nearly  as  many  churches 
as  there  are  people  to  go  to  them.  That  grain  of 
mustard-seed  of  mine  seemed  to  be  working. 

It  wasn't  my  doctrine  that  bothered  me.  The 
question  was,  Would  the  bishop  recognize  me  for 
the  fraud  I  really  was,  or  would  he  endorse  my 
assumed  identity? 

I  walked  right  up  to  the  old  gentleman  with 
extended  hand,  and  asked  feelingly  after  his 
health. 

The  bishop  shook  my  hand  and  looked  up  into 
my  face.  Then  he  took  off  his  glasses,  slowly 
polished  them  with  his  handkerchief,  put  them  on 
carefully  and  looked  at  me  again.  Every  one  was 


158  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

silent  while  the  bishop  was  peering  at  me.  Per- 
haps he  wanted  to  see  how  a  real  live  young  here- 
tic looked. 

He  folded  up  his  pince-nez  and  took  out  a 
leather  case.  From  this  he  extracted  his  long- 
distance spectacles  and  put  them  on.  The  result 
was  no  more  satisfactory.  Then  he  tried  on  the 
eye-glasses  at  the  end  of  his  nose  beyond  the 
spectacles.  They  must  have  obscured  his  vision 
sufficiently,  for  a  smile  of  recognition  spread  over 
his  face.  I  do  not  believe  he  could  see  me  at  all , 
through  all  that  glass,  but  he  wouldn't  own  up 
to  it. 

"I  am  in  good  health,  my  dear  young  friend," 
he  said  at  length,  "but  my  eyesight  is  growing 
very  poor.  You  must  have  been  ill.  You  have 
changed  terribly  since  I  saw  you  last.  You  must 
have  lost  twenty  pounds,  and  your  face  is  sadly 
emaciated." 

"I  have  been  ill.  That  is  why  I  am  very  glad 
to  be  transferred  from  New  York  to  your  dio- 
cese. I  have  been  working  quite  hard.  It  ran 
into  insomnia;  and  the  city  air  is  bad  for  my 


THE  BISHOP  159 

lungs,   which  have  been  troubling  me  of  late." 

"I  know,"  nodded  the  old  gentleman.  "These 
city  parishes  make  heavy  demands  upon  our 
young  shepherds." 

"What  is  the  matter,  Mr.  Sears?"  asked  Mrs. 
Apthorpe  of  Samuel,  who  was  evidently  stirred 
by  some  invisible  impulse  and  was  writhing  con- 
vulsively. "Are  you  ill?  You  seem  to  be  in 
pain." 

"No,  madam,"  gasped  Sam.  "It  is  nothing.  I 
— I — Excuse  me,  I'll — I'll  take  a  short  walk." 

Sam  Sears  was  possessed  of  the  idea  that  there 
was  something  funny  in  my  talk  with  the  good  old 
bishop  and  that  it  was  all  done  exclusively  for 
his  personal  amusement.  That  man  never  .had 
any  reverence. 

I  had  no  time  to  bother  with  him.  I  was  busy. 
The  worst  was  over  so  far  as  the  bishop  was  con- 
cerned. My  identity  as  the  Rev.  Charles  W. 
Tupper  was  more  firmly  established  than  ever. 

But  Dobbs  and  the  wardens  were  after  me  re- 
lentlessly. They  were  bound  to  lay  me  low,  pull 
me  down  and  trample  on  me.  Dobbs  took  a  mali- 


160  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

cious  satisfaction  in  making  things  just  as  dis- 
agreeable for  the  new  minister  as  he  knew  how* 
He  began  his  onslaught  by  quoting  my  introduc- 
tory discourse  with  more  or  less  accuracy.  He 
then  proceeded  to  show  that  I  had  asserted  the 
perishability  of  the  body,  that  it  would  be  left 
behind  and  the  soul  struggle  along  without  'it. 
Also,  that  I  had  asserted  that  the  soul  was  a  thing 
entirely  apart  from  it,  and  was  merely  manifested 
through  its  medium.  That  I  had  therefore  de- 
nied absolutely  a  bodily  resurrection  as  laid  down 
in  the  Apostle's  creed. 

"I  didn't  say  all  that,"  I  urged  in  defense.  "I 
merely  intimated  that  the  whole  is  no  greater 
than  the  sum  of  all  its  parts,  a  proposition  which 
is  pretty  good  mathematics,  anyhow.  All  I 
claimed  was  that  if  the  soul  did  not  reside  in  one 
hand  or  one  eye  that  had  gone,  it  could  not  dwell 
in  the  other  hand  or  the  other  eye  which  re- 
mained." 

"That's  just  our  complaint,  bishop,"  put  in  one 
of  the  farmers,  a  shrewd,  orthodox  old  Yankee. 
"This  here  young  chap  has  come  up  from  the  city 


THE  BISHOP  161 

into  our  hills  to  tell  us  that  the  hull  ain't  no 
•greater  when  it  is  hull,  than  when  it's  all  busted 
up  inter  smithereens.  When  I  cut  down  a  tree 
and  split  it  up  into  a  pile  of  kindlin's,  that  cord 
of  wood  ain't  no  tree." 

I  was  about  to  retort.  The  illustration  was  just 
what  I  wanted,  but  the  bishop  held  up  his  hand. 
The  young  parson  was  there  to  listen  to  his  elders, 
not  to  convert  them  to  his  personal  notions  about 
things.  I  would  very  much  like  to  work  an  elab- 
oration of  my  ideas  in  here,  seeing  how  I  was  shut 
off  there,  but  perhaps  it  would  be  better  to  write 
them  up  in  a  separate  paper  and  send  it  to  Dobbs, 
the  wardens  and  Bishop  Hungerford.  They 
might  read  it  and  you  wouldn't. 

Well,  the  good  old  man  stopped  the  dispute 
right  there.  "My  dear  friends,"  he  said,  "when 
young  Mr.  Tupper  has  grown  in  thought  and 
in  grace,  he  will  come  to  see  that  what  may 
be  good  mathematics  is  poor  theology.  The 
whole  is  greater  than  its  parts,  when  the  tree  we 
speak  of  is  the  tree  of  life.  It  holds  the  germ  of 
a  whole  forest.  There  is  the  mystery,  the  mystery 


162  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

of  infinity.  It  dwells  in  the  acorn  as  well  as  in 
the  oak.  'It  dwells  in  the  fowls  of  the  air  and  the 
creatures  of  the  deep  as  well  as  in  man.  Every- 
where, all  about  us,  without  and  within,  there  is 
the  mystery  of  the  infinite." 

Then  that  simple-hearted  Christian  gentleman 
preached  us  a  sermon  there  on  the  veranda  such 
as  I  had  never  heard  before  on  the  stateliest  oc- 
casions and  from  the  most  exalted  pulpits. 

He  defended  all  the  theological  dogmas  that 
young  men  of  the  day  decry,  when  they  bother 
their  heads  about  them  at  all.  He  yielded  not  one 
jot  nor  one  tittle  of  the  good  old  faith.  I  didn't 
agree  with  him  at  all ;  but  he  soothed  us  all  down 
and  quenched  the  fires  of  debate  with  the  dignity 
and  power  of  his  presence  and  the  lofty  grace  of 
his  language. 

The  bishop  was  all  right;  I  liked  him  first- 
rate.  When  he  had  finished  with  me  I  felt  just 
as  small  and  cheap  as  though  I  had  been  stealing 
something  and  had  been  caught  at  it.  If  I  had 
not  been  caught  of  course  I  should  have  had  no 
feelings  on  the  subject.  So  I  recanted  cheerfully 


THE  BISHOP  163 

anything  heretical  which  might  have  been  in- 
ferred from  what  I  had  said.  That  was  all  the  old 
gentleman  wanted,  and  it  made  me  solid  with 
him.  It  was  probably  the  shortest  and  least  sen- 
sational heresy-trial  that  ever  took  place.  If  I 
accomplished  nothing  else  while  I  was  in  the  min- 
istry, at  least  I  made  a  new  record  for  heresy- 
trials. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  that  man?"  asked 
Gosse,  pointing  to  where  Sam  Sears  lay  rolling 
over  and  over  under  a  tree,  out  on  the  lawn,  in 
full  view  of  all  of  us. 

"Henry,"  called  Apthorpe  to  the  gardener, 
who  was  working  on  the  flower-beds  near  by,  "go 
and  see  if  our  guest  yonder  is  ill." 

Henry  went  and  returned  with  a  grin  on  his 
face.  He  came  up  to  the  front  steps  and  touched 
his  hat.  "Please,  sir,"  he  said,  "Mr.  Sears,  he 
ain't  got  nothin'  the  matter  with  him.  He's 
laughin'." 

"Laughing?" 

"Yes,  sir,  he  says  as  how  he  had  a  tooth  ex- 
tracted yesterday  and  they  gave  him  an  overdose 


164  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

of  laughing  gas.  He  says  it  breaks  out  on  him 
sudden  like,  and  he  has  got  to  go  off  by  hisself 
and  work  it  out  of  his  system.  He  do  seem  to 
have  taken  a  powerful  lot  o'  that  gas." 

Sam  was  rapidly  disgracing  himself  beyond 
redemption.  I  was  ashamed  of  him.  Fielding, 
who  was  responsible  for  him,  looked  very  uncom- 
fortable. The  guest  whom  he  had  introduced  into 
this  select  household  had  certainly  been  acting 
in  a  very  original  manner  all  the  afternoon. 

He  had  jumped  around,  choked  in  his  soup  and 
upset  things  at  lunch.  He  had  stared  at  me,  the 
parson,  with  offensive  impertinence,  and  now  he 
had  seen  fit  to  yield  himself  up  to  a  fit  of  hys- 
terics before  the  eyes  of  the  bishop  and  the  war- 
dens of  the  church,  to  say  nothing  of  its  minister 
and  its  lay-reader. 

If  the  bishop  was  satisfied  with  the  result  of  his 
examination  into  my  doctrinal  soundness,  Mr. 
Dobbs  was  proportionately  disappointed.  His 
small  and  jealous  soul  still  sought  opportunity 
to  ruin  the  new  minister. 

He  had  supposed  that  the  bishop  would  un- 


THE  BISHOP  165 

frock  me  on  the  spot  for  my  extreme  heresy ;  and 
when  he  found  that  I  was  to  escape  with  merely 
a  mild  reproof,  his  chagrin  and  indignation  knew 
no  bounds. 

"But,  sir,"  he  protested  to  the  bishop,  "  he  was 
not  only  wrong  in  his  theology,  he  was  disrespect- 
ful to  holy  things.  He  wiped  his  face  on  the 
surplice.  I  saw  him  do  it." 

The  good  old  bishop  frowned.  He  did  not  like 
Dobbs  any  better  than  I  did,  though  he  had  felt 
it  his  duty  to  back  him  up.  He  had  not  lived  to 
nearly  four-score  years  without  learning  more  or 
less  about  human  nature  and  its  manifold  frail- 
ties. 

"I  did  make  a  mistake,"  I  said  maliciously. 
"The  surplice  was  very  dusty  and  badly  soiled, 
as  I  found  to  my  sorrow.  I  wanted  to  make  sure 
it  would  go  to  the  wash,  but  it  was  a  sad  mistake 
to  wipe  my  face  with  it." 

That  sally  tickled  the  bishop  in  his  secret  soul, 
though  he  did  not  smile.  He  was  glad  of  one 
good  chance  to  get  after  the  obstreperous  lay- 
reader. 


166  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

"How  is  this,  Mr.  Dobbs?"  he  inquired,  frown- 
ing upon  that  now  quailing  worthy  until  his 
shaggy  eyebrows  met  over  his  nose.  "Is  this  not 
a  case  of  the  mote  and  the  beam?" 

"It  was  an  oversight,  sir.  Mrs.  Flannigan,  the 
laundress,  has  been  quite  ill,"  mumbled  the  lay- 
reader. 

"So  we  learned  from  Mr.  Tupper,  who  hurried 
to  see  her  right  after  church,"  cried  Apthorpe, 
glad  to  squelch  Dobbs  and  put  in  a  good  word 
for  his  guest  at  the  same  time. 

"Humph,"  snorted  the  lay-reader,  "he  must 
have  traveled  in  an  airship  at  the  rate  of  about 
forty  miles  a  minute,  then.  She  was  removed  to 
a  hospital  at  Pittsfield  yesterday." 

"So  I  learned  when  I  inquired  for  her,"  I  said 
with  my  blandest  and  most  forgiving  smile. 

"You  must  have  heard  it  from  burglars,"  re- 
torted Dobbs,  "for  the  house  is  closed." 

"She  was  the  finest-looking  burglar  I  ever 
saw,"  I  assented.  I  had  to  stick  to  my  guns  even 
if  I  invented  a  whole  family  in  the  course  of  the 
argument. 


THE  BISHOP  167 

"Her  daughter  has  returned,  of  course,"  said 
Beatrice  Apthorpe.  "She  is  said  to  be  very 
pretty.  I  see  you  have  an  eye  for  our  Berk- 
shire lasses,  Mr.  Tupper.  You  will  have  to 
keep  a  sharp  watch  on  him,  Mr.  Dobbs.  Look 
out  for  Sally  Henderson  in  the  choir,  she  may 
need  your  protection." 

"Of  course  it  was  her  daughter,"  said  the 
bishop. 

Then  everybody  else  said  "Of  course"  in 
chorus,  and  looked  upon  the  lay-reader  in  scorn. 
Even  the  two  farmers  turned  their  backs  on  him. 
They  had  stood  by  him  in  his  nonsense  about  my 
heresy.  When  it  came  to  an  issue  of  fact,  in 
which  I  was  quite  wrong  and  he  was  entirely  in 
the  right,  they  struck  their  colors  and  deserted. 
That  is  the  way  of  the  world. 

Meanwhile  Gosse,  Apthorpe  and  Fielding  had 
been  whispering  together.  They  now  came  for- 
ward and  invited  the  bishop  to  remain  and  offi- 
ciate at  the  marriage-service  on  the  morrow. 
They  knew  Mr.  Tupper  wouldn't  mind. 

Beatrice  gasped  and  turned  very  pale.    Just 


168  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

as  we  had  rounded  all  the  roughest  corners  her 
whole  scheme  fell  through. 

One  thing  that  struck  me  as  very  peculiar  was 
the  fact  that  none  of  the  men  thought  it  necessary 
or  desirable  to  ask  what  her  pleasure  was  in  the 
matter.  She  was  not  being  treated  with  much 
consideration;  that  was  clear.  But  what  girl 
wouldn't  prefer  to  be  married  by  a  bishop,  if  she 
had  the  chance? 

I  was  sure  it  was  the  work  of  Sam  Sears.  He 
must  have  dropped  some  sort  of  a  hint  to  Field- 
ing. I  learned  afterwards  that  he  had  whispered 
to  the  actor  that  it  would  look  better  in  print  to 
have  the  bishop's  name  mentioned  in  connection 
with  the  affair.  Sears  intended  no  harm,  per- 
haps, but  he  was  a  nuisance.  He  had  made 
trouble  for  me  all  the  afternoon. 

The  new  arrangement  about  the  wedding  did 
not  worry  me  as  much  as  it  did  Miss  Apthorpe. 
I  had  already  formed  a  plan  for  getting  the  good 
old  bishop  out  of  the  way.  On  the  whole,  had  it 
not  been  for  Sam  Sears,  I  should  have  felt  pretty 
safe  and  taken  my  first  easy  breath  for  several 


THE  BISHOP  169 

hours.  Just  as  I  had  everybody  nicely  set  to 
rights  in  this  Apthorpe  business  something  al- 
ways happened  to  set  my  teeth  on  edge  again. 
I  had  triumphed  completely.  Every  prospect 
was  pleasing,  and  only  Dobbs  and  his  wardens 
wore  no  smile.  But  they  were  about  to  depart. 

Just  then  Beatrice  Apthorpe  seized  me  by  the 
arm  and  pointed  up  the  road.  "Look  I"  she  cried. 

And  well  I  might  look.  The  Rev.  Charles  W. 
Tupper,  alias  Basil  Plympton,  was  coming  down 
the  hill  at  a  hot  pace,  grim  determination  on  his 
face.  He  turned  in  at  the  gateway  under  the 
rustic  arch,  and  came  toward  us.  Evidently  he 
had  heard  of  the  bishop's  visit  to  Burgmoor,  and, 
believing  it  all  up  with  me,  had  come  to  help  ex- 
plain things  and  resume  his  lost  place  in  the 
world. 

I  could  see  that  he  had  serious  misgivings  about 
what  was  going  to  happen  to  him;  but  I  could 
see  also  that  he  had  resolved  to  confess  and  lay 
the  whole  case  before  the  bishop.  When  he 
looked  up  at  the  veranda  and  saw  us  all  sitting 
there,  calm  and  peaceful  and  happy,  good  faith 


170  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

required  him  to  retreat  at  once.  But  he  was  mad 
clear  through  because  I  was  hobnobbing  with  the 
bishop  instead  of  his  doing  so.  I  could  not  very 
well  blame  him;  he  had  been  losing  chances  of 
distinction  all  day. 

The  case  was  one,  however,  which  justified  ex- 
treme measures  on  my  part.  I  waited  until  he 
was  in  full  view  of  every  one  as  he  came  up  the 
walk.  Then  I  pointed  to  him  and  asked  Mr. 
Gosse  if  that  wasn't  the  reporter  he  had  seen  in 
church  that  morning. 

"That  is  the  chap,  sure  enough,"  he  replied. 

"The  same  man!"  cried  Beatrice  Apthorpe. 

"Perhaps  he  wants  to  interview  Bishop  Hun- 
gerford,"  I  suggested,  "and  while  he  is  doing  it 
pick  up  some  gossip  about  the  wedding." 

That  was  like  a  red  rag  to  a  bull.  Apthorpe 
arose  in  his  might.  "Henry,"  he  shouted,  "tell 
that  fellow  he  isn't  wanted  here  and  lead  him  off 
the  premises!  Pay  no  attention  to  what  he  says. 
Just  put  him  out.  I  won't  have  any  of  those  ras- 
cals around." 

Before  poor  Tupper  came  within  speaking 


THE  BISHOP  171 

distance  or  close  enough  for  the  near-sighted  old 
bishop  to  have  a  good  look  at  his  face,  the  faith- 
ful and  muscular  gardener  took  him  by  the  arm 
and  led  him  away. 

I  could  see  that  the  dominie  was  inclined  to 
argue  the  point.  But  Henry  was  mindful  of  his 
orders  and  deaf  to  all  persuasion,  and  the  much- 
abused  young  parson  was  summarily  ejected. 

It  was  hard  luck  for  him ;  I  did  not  blame  him 
for  feeling  sore.  It  was  good  luck  for  me,  though, 
and  he  couldn't  blame  me,  either.  It  was  a  close 
call;  but  once  more  we  had  saved  the  day  by  a 
narrow  margin. 


When  Sam  Sears  stepped  into  my  room  to  chat 
a  few  moments  before  dinner,  he  seemed  in  a 
mirthful  mood. 

"All  right,"  I  said,  "have  your  laugh  out. 
Wash  all  of  that  gas  out  of  your  system  before 
you  go  downstairs.  I  should  like  to  see  you  go 
through  one  meal  without  choking  in  your  soup." 

"Well,  Plympton,  I'll  try  to  mend  my  ways, 
only  don't  crowd  me  too  hard.  Give  me  a  pointer 
in  advance  now  and  then  so  I  can  know  what  to 
look  for.  It's  these  continual  surprises  you  spring 
that  upset  a  fellow." 

"Did  I  not  tell  you  I  was  going  to  have  a  high 
dignitary  of  the  church  on  hand  to  do  the  wed- 
ding? What  is  the  use  of  giving  you  a  pointer, 
if  you  can't  take  it?" 

"You  gave  me  some  talk  about  an  English- 


ENTANGLEMENTS  173 

man.     Do   you  mean  to   say  you  meant  the 
bishop?" 

"It  was  between  him  and  Bishop  Hungerford. 
I  wired  both ;  the  bishop  came." 

"Come  now,  do  you  mean  to  say  you  sent  for 
the  bishop  yourself?" 

"Certainly.    Why  not?" 

"It  didn't  look  like  it.  Is  that  what  you  were 
going  to  tell  me  this  evening?" 

"Not  at  all.  There  is  more  to  this  thing  than 
you  have  any  notion.  I'll  put  you  onto  all  the  fine 
points  as  soon  as  I  have  a  fair  chance.  Meet  me 
at  half  past  ten  to-night  at  the  back  gate  in  the 
garden.  I'll  tell  you  a  few  things  that  will 
awaken  you.  We  will  take  in  some  of  this  fine 
hill-country  air  and  have  a  good  talk." 

With  that  we  went  down.  I  hadn't  the  least 
notion  what  cock-and-bull  story  I  could  prepare 
for  him.  There  was  plenty  of  time  to  make  one 
up  between  seven  and  ten-thirty,  provided  my  in- 
ventive powers  were  equal  to  the  emergency. 
When  I  came  to  think  of  it  I  had  undertaken  a 
big  contract,  and  meanwhile  other  duties  were 


174.  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

of  pressing  importance.  In  fact  my  inventive 
powers  had  been  stretched  to  high  tension  all  day 
long.  The  first  day  of  my  vacation  had  been  a 
pretty  lively  one  so  far. 

The  evening  meal  was  the  easiest  of  all.  The 
bishop  held  the  center  of  the  stage,  asked  the 
blessing,  led  the  conversation  and  answered  the 
questions  of  young  Master  Howard  Gosse  with 
skill  and  suavity.  Beatrice  Apthorpe's  eyes  were 
red  from  weeping  and  her  pretty  face  was  so  ut- 
terly downcast  I  could  hardly  stand  it.  However 
foolish  her  plan  might  seem,  one  thing  was  cer- 
tain :  she  had  rather  die  than  marry  Fielding,  and 
with  the  advent  of  the  good  old  bishop  had  given 
herself  up  to  despair.  Whether  or  not  I  carried 
my  role  of  impostor  to  the  point  of  perform- 
ing a  mock  marriage,  I  resolved  to  get  the  kind 
old  gentleman  out  of  Burgmoor  without  unneces- 
sary delay. 

The  task  was  not  so  difficult  as  it  might  ap- 
pear at  first  thought.  I  turned  the  conversation 
upon  things  dramatic,  and  soon  developed  the 
fact  that  the  bishop  had  a  holy  horror  of  the  stage 


ENTANGLEMENTS  175 

and  of  everything  pertaining  thereto.  It  was 
clear  that  he  was  ignorant  of  Fielding's  profes- 
sion. The  Apthorpes  had  not  seen  fit  to  enlight- 
en him. 

I  supplied  the  omission  with  apparent  inno- 
cence. The  bishop  started,  frowned,  and  bent  a 
glance  of  the  utmost  curiosity  on  the  real,  live 
actor.  He  seemed  astonished  to  find  such  a  speci- 
men actually  eating  in  peace  like  any  other  mor- 
tal. I  could  see  that  the  benevolent  old  man  was 
much  disturbed  within  himself,  though  he  made 
no  sign  while  I  drew  Fielding  on  to  converse 
about  topics  theatrical. 

This  all  took  time  and  I  let  it  gradually  have 
its  effect.  That  was  but  the  first  move.  Then  I 
began  to  talk  about  newspapers  and  how  the 
representatives  of  the  press  were  haunting  the 
vicinity. 

"I  am  so  glad  you  happened  over  here,"  I  said 
to  Bishop  Hungerford.  "A  man  of  your  ex- 
alted station  does  not  mind  having  his  picture 
published  in  every  newspaper  in  New  York  City. 
It  would  be  embarrassing  for  a  young  clergyman. 


176  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

Evil-minded  persons  might  insinuate  that  he  was 
seeking  notoriety." 

"Dear  me,  you  don't  say  there  is  any  likelihood 
of  such  publicity?"  said  the  bishop  in  extreme 
annoyance. 

"Nonsense,"  said  Mr.  Apthorpe,  frowning  and 
shaking  his  head  at  me;  "nothing  of  the  sort. 
We  have  kept  the  affair  most  private.  I  have 
refused  -a  dozen  applications  to  have  reporters 
present  at  the  ceremony." 

The  remark  was  unfortunate  from  his  point 
of  view.  It  didn't  serve  to  soothe  the  bishop. 

"One  of  them  was  put  off  the  grounds  this 
afternoon,"  I  reminded  that  excellent  prelate. 

The  bishop  said  nothing  more,  but  I  could  see 
that  my  shot  had  hit  the  bull's-eye.  Immediately 
after  dinner  he  laid  his  hand  heavily  on  my  arm 
and  asked  me  to  take  a  turn  with  him  in  the 
garden. 

"I  do  not  know  how  I  can  thank  you,  my 
young  brother,  for  your  timely  warning,"  he  said 
with  much  agitation.  "I  would  not  do  anything 


ENTANGLEMENTS  177 

that  would  bring  my  name,  much  less  my  picture, 
into  the  papers  in  this  way  for  worlds.  I  am 
much  perplexed.  I  should  not  have  been  de- 
ceived into  such  a  position." 

"It  is  easily  avoided,  if  you  wish  it,"  I  ven- 
tured. 

"How?" 

"Oh,  it  can  be  arranged  so  you  can  escape 
from  the  situation  without  hurting  the  feelings 
of  any  one.  As  I  said  at  the  table,  it  would  be 
embarrassing,  even  for  a  young  man;  not  alone 
the  publicity,  but  the  apparent  sanction  it  gives 
to  the  evils  of  the  stage." 

The  good  bishop's  hand  trembled  as  it  rested 
on  my  arm.  I  was  really  sorry  for  him. 

"What  excuse  can  I  make?"  he  asked  desper- 
ately. "These  excellent  people  are  of  high  stand- 
ing and  give  largely  of  their  worldly  goods  to  the 
needs,  the  pressing  needs  of  the  Church,  and  the 
poor  of  the  Church  who  are  always  with  us." 

"They  did  not  dream  that  you  would  accept 
when  they  asked  you,"  I  asserted.  "They  would 
have  requested  you  to  come  in  the  first  place  and 


178  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

not  an  unknown  young  man  like  me  had  they 
hoped  for  your  sanction." 

"But  what  shall  I  do?  I  can  think  of  nothing 
that  does  not  savour  of  duplicity,  and  it  is  too  late 
for  me  to  begin  deception  at  my  time  of  life.  It 
is  a  cross,  but  perhaps  I  must  bear  it." 

I  did  not  want  to  have  him  think  that  he  was 
going  to  have  an  easy  chance  to  martyr  himself. 
"You  are  too  old  and  have  suffered  too  much  to 
take  fresh  burdens  meant  for  younger  shoulders," 
I  suggested.  I  didn't  know  just  what  he  had  suf- 
fered, but  one  couldn't  live  to  that  age  without 
enduring  a  great  deal  first  and  last.  "Leave  it 
all  to  me,"  I  added;  "you  are  not  to  blame  if 
some  one  else  deceives  you." 

He  looked  at  me  rather  doubtfully.  He  didn't 
like  to  have  his  young  meniso  fertile  in  expedients 
which  smacked  of  worldly  cunning.  But  he  was 
in  sore  straits,  and  finally  decided  to  let  things 
take  their  course.  If  he  was  not  required  to  fall 
from  grace  himself,  well,  young  men  would  be 
young  men,  whether  ordained  or  not. 

I  cast  no  reflections  on  the  bishop.    He  was  one 


ENTANGLEMENTS  179 

of  the  best  and  kindest  old  gentlemen  I  have  ever 
had  the  good  fortune  to  meet.  After  all,  I  was  a 
wolf  in  sheep's  clothing,  and  tempted  him. 

On  parting  from  the  perplexed  prelate  I  took 
a  walk  to  the  village  tavern.  There  I  found  Tup- 
per,  half  beside  himself.  The  poor  young  fellow 
had  lost  ten  pounds  by  the  nerve-wear  of  that 
dreadful  day.  It  did  him  good ;  he  had  been  too 
stout  before. 

Tupper  was  very  angry  with  me,  for  he  guessed 
rightly  that  I  was  at  the  bottom  of  his  ejection 
from  the  Apthorpe  premises.  I  soon  convinced 
him,  however,  that  it  would  have  been  fatal  to  us 
both  had  he  appeared  on  the  scene. 

When  I  told  him  how  I  had  outfaced  and  out- 
maneuvered  Dobbs  and  his  lieutenants,  his  brow 
cleared.  And  when  I  disclosed  the  fashion  in 
which  we  were  to  dispose  of  Bishop  Hungerford 
he  laughed  heartily  and  joined  in  the  scheme  with 
a  right  good  will.  Anything  was  justifiable  in 
his  eyes,  now  that  the  bishop  had  tacitly  approved. 

By  means  of  a  substantial  bribe  we  secured  the 
services  of  a  shrewd,  close-mouthed  native.  He 


180  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

was  to  deliver  a  letter  addressed  to  the  bishop  at 
Burgmoor.  All  he  had  to  say  was  that  he  had 
driven  over  from  the  neighboring  town  of  High- 
field  and  was  ready  ito  drive  the  bishop  back  there, 
if  that  prelate  cared  to  go.  The  missive  called 
the  bishop  to  the  bedside  of  a  friend  who  was  very 
ill  and  thought  to  be  dying. 

On  my  walk  back  to  Burgmoor,  I  met  the 
bishop  driving  away  at  a  fast  trot.  I  glided  into 
the  underbrush  on  one  side  of  the  road.  I  did 
not  wish  to  detain  him  or  give  him  any  chance  to 
repent. 

When  I  passed  the  gate  I  met  Henry,  the 
gardener,  who  was  looking  very  important.  He 
had  a  shot-gun  in  his  hand  and  was  peering  up 
and  down  the  road.  He  was  out  gunning  for 
newspaper  correspondents.  I  hoped  he  would 
wing  one.  He  greeted  me  very  pleasantly. 

Further  on  I  met  Beatrice  Apthorpe,  now 
wreathed  in  smiles.  She  seized  my  hand  with 
both  of  hers  and  looked  up  at  me  admiringly. 

"How  clever  you  are!"  she  cried.  "You  have 
saved  me.  You  have  saved  my  life.  How  can  I 


ENTANGLEMENTS  181 

ever  thank  you  enough?  How  neatly  you  did  it. 
Father  and  Mr.  Gosse  are  in  a  fury.  Harry 
Fielding  is  beside  himself.  They  all  think  there  is 
a  trick,  but  they  can't  quite  see  through  it.  They 
believe  you  managed  it  some  way  in  order  to  get 
your  own  name  into  the  papers !  I  came  to  warn 
you  not  to  go  in  just  now.  Father  is  so  angry 
he  might  ask  embarrassing  questions.  He  will 
cool  off  by  morning.  Mr.  Fielding,  Mr.  Sears, 
my  sister  and  Mr.  Gosse  have  gone  for  a  short 
drive.  They  invited  me  to  join  them,  but  I  didn't 
care  to  go." 

I  told  her  that  a  little  trick  like  that  wasn't 
worth  talking  about.  I  said  I  was  not  at  all 
proud  of  it,  and  would  never  have  done  it  save 
from  force  of  circumstances.  !<  I  am  not  half  as 
clever  as  you,"  I  added. 

"I?" 

"Yes,  Miss  Apthorpe.  Some  time  ago  I  had 
the  pleasure  of  reading  a  production  from  your 
pen  which  proves  you  a  very  able  woman." 

"What — what  do  you  mean?"  She  had  flushed 
red  and  then  turned  very  pale. 


182  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

"Your  play,  you  know,  'Diamonds  Lead,  but 
Hearts  are  Trumps.' ' 

At  that,  to  my  astonishment,  she  threw  up  her 
hands  and  fell  fainting  into  my  arms. 

We  were  in  a  secluded  part  of  the  garden  or  I 
should  have  had  a  bees'  nest  about  my  devoted 
head  in  a  trice. 

I  chafed  her  wrists  and  her  temples,  and  she 
soon  revived.  If  you  wish  to  keep  from  falling 
in  love  with  a  young  woman  toward  whom  you 
are  attracted  by  powerful  influences  and  from 
whom  you  are  repelled  by  every  dictate  of  honour 
and  common  sense,  don't  let  her  faint  in  your 
arms  in  a  rose-garden  on  a  warm  July  evening. 
If  fate  puts  you  in  that  situation,  lay  her  gently 
down  and  summon  help.  Don't  play  doctor  and 
nurse  yourself. 

"What  is  the  matter,  dear?"  I  asked,  the  word 
of  caress  falling  from  my  lips  so  naturally  that 
I  was  scarcely  conscious  of  it;  but  then,  I'll  never 
tell  all  the  restoratives  I  applied. 

"Nothing,"  she  said,  opening  her  bright  eyes, 
but  making  no  effort  to  abandon  my  support. 


ENTANGLEMENTS  183 

"Nothing;  only  I  dreamed  you  said  you  had 
found  it." 

"Foun<l  what?" 

"The  play,  my  lost,  stolen  manuscript — the 
only  proof  I  had  of  my  innocence." 

"My  dear  child,  calm  yourself.  Your  words 
are  wild  and  without  meaning.  Think  a  moment ; 
just  reason  about  it." 

"I  am  all  right,  Mr.  Plympton,"  she  said. 
"You  are  kind  and  chivalrous.  You  do  not  un- 
derstand, that  is  all." 

"It's  very  perplexing,"  I  confessed. 

"You  said  something  about  reading  my  play, 
about  having  seen  the  manuscript.  That  fatal 
effort  of  mine  is  responsible  for  everything.  If 
I  had  never  written  it;  if  I  had  never  let  it  out 
of  my  hands,  this  hateful,  this  detestable  marriage 
could  not  have  been  forced  upon  me." 

We  sat  down  on  a  bench,  under  an  arbor  of 
vines,  and  she  asked  me  a  number  of  questions  in 
quick  succession.  Where  was  the  manuscript 
now?  When  I  told  her  it  was  in  my  room 
lodged  safely  in  my  grip,  she  clasped  her  hands 


184  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

in  triumph.    "We  may  foil  him  yet,"  she  said. 

Then  she  wanted  to  know  how  the  play  had 
come  into  my  possession.  I  told  her  about  Carl 
Krull  and  of  the  opinion  of  the  critics,  including 
my  own,  which  was  now  quite  worthless  as  I  had 
become  too  much  biased  in  the  matter  to  be  any 
judge. 

She  did  not  seem  at  all  surprised  to  know  her 
play  was  well  thought  of  by  competent  judges, 
or  to  learn  that  Krull  was  eager  to  meet  the 
authoress  and  to  arrange  for  putting  her  drama 
on  the  stage. 

"I  have  known  all  that  from  the  moment  I 
wrote  it,"  she  said  with  the  calm  of  perfect  assur- 
ance, yet  without  a  trace  of  egotism.  "Believe  me, 
I  do  not  care  if  it  is  never  acted.  I  do  not 
care  if  it  is  lauded  to  the  skies.  I  would 
not  go  across  the  street  to  see  it  presented.  I  have 
been  caused  such  utter  misery  through  the  manu- 
script of  that  play  that  I  hate  the  very  thought 
of  it." 

"Even  now  when  your  moment  of  triumph 
seems  close  at  hand?" 


ENTANGLEMENTS  185 

"Even  now,  when  the  light  seems  breaking 
through  the  clouds.  Can  you  not  guess  what 
agony  it  has  been  to  me,  can  you  not  imagine  to 
what  a  pass  I  must  have  been  brought,  to  act  as 
I  have  acted  today,  casting  myself  on  the  mercy 
of  a  total  stranger,  wnen  I  am  apparently  sur- 
rounded by  every  luxury,  guarded  by  every  pro- 
tection that  could  surround,  could  guard  any  girl 
in  this  broad  land?" 

"Do  you  still  look  upon  me  as  a  perfect 
stranger?" 

"Have  you  not  seen  that  I  liked  you?    We  do 
not  like  strangers,  and  what  is  more  we  do  not 
tell  them  so.    And  yet,  we  never  spoke  to  each 
other  until  this  morning.    Liking  isn't  computed 
by  the  clock;  it  is  measured  by  heart-throbs." 
"If  that  is  the  way  you  figure  it,  Miss  Ap— 
She  held  up  her  hand,  with  a  pretty  gesture  of 
supplication  and  protest. 

"If  that  is  the  way  you  count  the  length  of 
our  acquaintance,"  I  said,  "we  must  have  known 
each  other  for  years.  My  heart  has  been  running 
like  a  millrace  all  day  long." 


186  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

"That  is  the  way  a  woman  counts  the  time, 
anyway,"  she  said,  arching  that  whimsical  eye- 
brow of  hers  at  me.  "And  I  am  going  to  prove  it 
to  you,  by  telling  you  my  whole  story  and  putting 
my  entire  trust  in  you.  I  will  be  guided  abso- 
lutely by  your  advice,  even  if  you  decide,  as  my 
father  and  Mr.  Gosse  have  done,  that  I  must 
marry  a  man  whom  I  can  never  regard  with  any 
feeling  other  than  one  of  contempt  and  hatred." 

"Perhaps  I  may  be  compelled  to  agree  with 
them,"  I  acknowledged  gravely,  as  I  felt  the 
weight  of  the  responsibility  that  was  falling  upon 
me.  "It.  will  be  strange,  though,  if  I  do  not  see 
a  better  way." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

ARTIFICE 

The  dusk  was  falling  amid  the  crimsons 
of  the  after-glow,  and  the  warm  shade  of  the 
grape-vines  shut  us  off  from  the  rest  of  the  world. 
Some  moments  stand  out  in  bold  relief  against 
the  background  of  half-remembered  and  half- 
forgotten  incidents.  I  can  see  her  now  as  she  sat 
there  by  my  side — close  by  my  side,  and  can  re- 
member every  movement  of  her  restless  little 
hands,  every  turn  of  her  head,  and  each  expres- 
sion that  passed  over  her  mobile  features.  There 
was  a  look  of  trust  in  her  eyes  that  set  my  heart 
athrob  as  I  whispered:  "Now  for  the  whole 
story." 

"Did  you  ever  see  Mr.  Fielding  act?"  she 
asked,  inconsequentially,  as  I  thought. 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  "and,  frankly,  the  one  great 
mystery  to  me  is  that  a  man  of  his  sort  could  have 


188  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

attracted  a  woman  like  you.  The  rest  I  might 
guess  at,  or,  at  least,  make  an  attempt  to  surmise, 
but  that  passes  my  comprehension." 

"Naturally,"  admitted  the  young  lady  de- 
murely, "for,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  he  never  did 
attract  me  in  the  way  you  mean,  not  in  the  least 
degree." 

I  smiled,  but  made  no  other  comment. 

"You  needn't  look  so  incredulous,"  protested 
Batrice,  with  a  moue,  "for  he  never  made  the 
slightest  impression  upon  me,  of  that  sort,  after 
the  fashion  of  other  girls,  even  in  my  own  set,  who 
showered  him,  last  winter,  with  notes,  flowers 
and  invitations.  But  he  did  exert  a  powerful  in- 
fluence upon  me,  none  the  less.  It  was  his  art 
as  a  comedian,  his  exquisite  sense  of  the  ludicrous, 
his  refined,  yet  telling  humor,  his  delicate  rail- 
lery " 

"You  must  have  seen  him  in  'A  Midsummer 
Night's  Dream,'  as  Nick  Bottom,"  I  could  not 
help  suggesting. 

"But  not  with  the  eyes  of  Titania,"  she  per- 
sisted, with  quick  appreciation  of  the  insinuation. 


ARTIFICE  189 

"I  know  you  don't  like  him,  I  don't  want  you  to, 
but  you  must  at  least  concede  him  to  be  a  clever 
actor." 

"And  yet  again  wonderful,  out  of  all  hooping," 
I  rejoined. 

"Don't  be  so  terribly  Shakespearian,  and  lis- 
ten," she  protested.  "I,  at  all  events,  admired 
his  talent,  and  it  fired  my  imagination — served 
as  an  inspiration  to  attempt  something  in  a  hu- 
morous vein  myself.  I  first  saw  Mr.  Fielding  at 
a  matinee,  which  I  attended  with  a  school  friend 
of  mine,  who  had  already  made  his  personal  ac- 
quaintance and  urged  me  to  see  him.  It  was 
while  enjoying  his  power  of  fun-making  that 
afternoon,  that  the  scheme  of  a  play,  full  of  dash 
and  situation,  just  the  sort  of  a  comedy  he  could 
act  well  and  make  successful,  popped  into  my 
head.  I  have  never  quite  determined  how  much 
of  the  inspiration  came  from  him  and  what  pro- 
portion was  latent  in  me." 

"We  will  let  the  public  be  the  final  judge  of 
that,"  I  suggested. 

"Anyway,  I  hurried  home  and  began  to  write. 


190  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

New  turns  to  events,  new  developments  to  the 
characters  and  new  subjects  of  ridicule  poured 
in  upon  me,  until  in  a  few  days  my  attempt  grew 
into  a  four-act  comedy  which  you  have  been  good 
enough  to  praise." 

"I  liked  it  when  I  was  in  the  position  of  an  im- 
partial critic,  and  I  certainly  haven't  changed  my 
mind  since,"  I  assured  her.  "I  suppose  it  was  the 
play  that  brought  you  Fielding's  acquaintance?" 

"I  naturally  turned  to  him  to  secure  recogni- 
tion, as  he  was  the  source  of  much  of  the  inspira- 
tion there  was  in  it.  The  friend  who  had  taken 
me  to  see  him  act  arranged  an  introduction  at  her 
home.  I  did  not  tell  her  about  the  play.  I  did 
not  tell  any  one  but  Mr.  Fielding  about  it.  I 
wanted  it  kept  a  profound  secret  until  it  was  ac- 
cepted and  produced." 

"I  can  quite  understand  your  feelings  in  the 
matter,"  I  said. 

"But  others  have  not  been  as  lenient.  You 
see,  my  family  are  all  rather  practical.  Not  one 
of  them  ever  attempted  literary  work,  and  they 
fail  to  appreciate  how  sensitive  one  might  be 


ARTIFICE  191 

under  such  circumstances.  But  Mr.  Fielding  was 
all  sympathy  and  appreciation  when  I  told  him 
about  my  effort  and  showed  him  the  manuscript. 
He  felt,  or  skilfully  simulated,  deep  interest.  We 
met  alone  and  dined  together  several  times  while 
he  went  over  the  play  with  me  and  made  correc- 
tions which  I  could  see  improved  it  immensely 
and  lent  the  professional  touches  it  lacked,  which 
I  could  never  have  given  it.  When  this  had  been 
done  he  took  the  manuscript  and  promised  to 
place  it  in  the  hands  of  his  manager.  I  have 
never  seen  it  since." 

"All  this  sounds  harmless  enough;  how  could 
it  have  led  to  your  present  difficulties?"  I  queried. 

"It  seemed  entirely  innocent  and  proper  to 
me,"  rejoined  Beatrice,  "but  it  was  very  uncon- 
ventional and  I  ought  to  have  known  better.  I 
should,  at  the  very  least,  have  taken  my  mother 
into  my  confidence;  but,  as  I  once  told  you,  I 
thought  myself  clever  and  able  to  take  care  of 
myself.  I  failed  to  appreciate  in  what  an  un- 
favorable light  my  conduct  might  be  regarded  by 
those  who  did  not  know  all  the  facts." 


192  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

"And  did  you  talk  of  nothing  but  the  play? 
Did  you  have  no  inkling  of  the  actor's  ulterior 
motives?"  I  could  not  forbear  to  ask. 

"Ah,  I  know  you  will  blame  me,"  admitted 
Beatrice,  with  a  slight  flush.  "Mr.  Fielding, 
from  the  very  first,  affected  to  admire  me,  as  well 
as  my  play,  and  said  things  of  that  sort,  you 
know." 

"I  don't  know." 

•"Oh,  yes,  you  do.  Things  of  the  kind  that  most 
men  say  to  most  girls ;  but  there  was  a  theatrical 
flavor  to  it  all,  so  I  didn't  pay  much  attention  to 
it." 

"You  mean  that  you  did  not  think  him  se- 
rious," I  suggested. 

"Why  should  I?"  queried  the  young  lady,  with 
a  trace  of  mischief. 

"Why,  indeed?"  I  exclaimed  sententiously. 

"Don't  be  absurd,"  she  pleaded.  "I  really 
and  truly  did  not  suppose  him  more  in  earnest 
or  sincere  than  many  other  men  I  have  met  who 
have  talked  to  me  in  the  same  vein." 


ARTIFICE  193 

"Do  you  doubt  us  all  like  that?"  I  asked,  with 
a  touch  of  tender  significance. 

"I  have  had  reason  to,"  declared  Miss  Ap- 
thorpe.  She  didn't  appear  to  me  to  be  one  who 
had  so  frequently  been  deceived  and  trifled  with, 
so  I  didn't  press  the  matter. 

"Toward  the  last,"  she  continued,  "I  began  to 
appreciate  that  I  had,  perhaps,  let  affairs  pro- 
gress too  far,  in  my  interest  in  the  comedy." 

"Which  comedy?" 

"The  play  I  had  written;  please  don't  be  flip- 
pant. When  I  was  at  last  forced  to  make  him 
understand  there  could  be  nothing  like  that  be- 
tween us  he  grew  so  wild  and  desperate  in  his 
talk  that  I  should  have  been  frightened,  had  I 
not  known  him  to  be  such  a  perfect  actor.  I  told 
him  that  I  could  never  meet  him  again  and  that 
all  was  at  an  end  between  us.  I  wish  I  had  ad- 
hered to  that  resolution." 

"I  suppose  he  allured  you  with  some  assurance 
about  the  play?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,  he  wrote  me  that  his  manager  wished  to 
meet  me  with  reference  to  producing  it.  I  went 


194  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

to  the  place  appointed.  It  was  early  in  the  even- 
ing, not  later  than  eight  o'clock.  I  left  word  at 
home  that  I  would  be  dining  with  the  Van  Ant- 
werps.  I  have  already  told  you  that  I  was  not 
at  all  frank  with  my  family,  but  I  have  been 
severely  punished  for  what  I  considered  an  in- 
nocent deception." 

"You  took  serious  risks,"  I  observed  gravely. 

"More  serious  than  I  could  possibly  antici- 
pate," she  conceded.  "The  manager  was  not 
there,  and  Mr.  Fielding  resumed  his  wild  and 
foolish  talk.  He  was  in  the  midst  of  it  when  my 
father  and  brother-in-law  suddenly  broke  in  upon 
us  and  made  a  horrid  scene.  They  refused  to 
listen  to  my  excuses  and  explanations,  but  took 
me  home,  where  mother  and  sister  Kit  sided  with 
them  in  their  reproaches.  The  upshot  of  it  all 
was  that  they  thought  I  should  marry  Mr.  Field- 
ing." 

"And  he  was  villain  enough  to  take  advantage 
of  the  misapprehension,"  I  cried,  my  blood  boil- 
ing at  the  outrage. 

"He  not  only  took  every  possible  advantage  of 


ARTIFICE  195 

it;  he  denied  my  story  about  the  play,  declared 
it  made  up  out  of  whole  cloth,  as  a  mere  woman's 
excuse.  No  one  believed  me  and  I  was  helpless.  I 
had  no  way  to  prove  what  I  said  and  the  story 
didn't  sound  true.  It  seemed  much  more  prob- 
able that  I  had  become  infatuated,  like  so  many 
other  girls." 

"But  how  did  your  father  and  brother-in-law 
happen  to  suspect  you,  and  arrive  so  inoppor- 
tunely?" I  queried. 

"I  have  always  believed  Mr.  Fielding  respon- 
sible, but  I  never  quite  knew.  He  may  have 
written  them  an  anonymous  letter,  or  something 
of  that  sort." 

"Do  you  believe  him  still  sincere,  in  spite  of 
his  villainy,  or  that  mercenary  considerations 
have  come  to  be  of  chief  influence  with  him?"  I 
asked. 

"I  have  offered  him  money,  large  sums  of 
money,  if  that  is  what  you  mean,"  rejoined  Bea- 
trice, flushing  a  little.  "I  would  give  my  whole 
fortune  to  avoid  this  hateful  marriage;  yes,  and 
all  that  I  may  ever  have  in  the  future.  But  he  still 


196  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

insists  that  he  loves  me  for  myself,  and  for  myself 
only.  That  is  the  part  I  fail  to  understand.  How 
can  love  exist  without  honour?" 

"Men  will  do  desperate  things  under  its  im-1 
pulse,"  I  acknowledged.  "I  can  almost  appre- 
ciate how  the  fellow  was  tempted  to  the  course 
he  pursued,  especially  with  his  stage  ideals  and 
dramatic  surroundings." 

"I  suppose  that  is  the  way  he  satisfies  his  con- 
science," mused  Beatrice,  "and  his  wretched 
scheme  has  been  made  possible  by  the  blindness 
of  my  family  and  my  own  folly." 

"Your  people  have  certainly  taken  a  wrong 
position.  If  I  had  my  way  the  knave  would  be 
horsewhipped  and  sent  about  his  business  in 
short  order,"  I  cried. 

"Then  you — then  I  have,  at  least,  convinced 
you?"  And  she  looked  me  through  and  through 
with  those  clear  brown  eyes  of  hers. 

"With  whatever  of  sincerity  and  of  worth 
there  is  in  me,"  I  said,  with  sufficient  earnestness, 
as  I  ventured  to  take  her  little  hand  in  mine  and 
hold  it.  The  glow  in  her  cheeks  was  perceptible 


ARTIFICE  197 

even  amid  the  rose-light  of  parting  day  about  us, 
as  I  bent  my  face  close  to  hers. 

Man  and  woman  do  not  come  to  an  under- 
standing by  spoken  words,  always.  Love  often 
blooms  from  bud  to  full  blown  flower  in  an  in- 
stant of  silent  sympathy.  So  it  then  was  with  us, 
nor  could  it  well  have  been  otherwise.  In  my 
view,  while  she  remained  Fielding's  affianced 
bride,  my  own  devotion  to  her  ought  to  be  dis- 
played by  deeds  rather  than  in  words,  if  I  could 
hold  myself  in  hand  sufficiently.  But  I  told  her 
what  I  thought  of  the  whole  rascally  business, 
and  I  didn't  mince  matters.  On  that  score,  at 
least,  I  was  sufficiently  explicit,  and  she  had  so 
long  been  misconstrued  and  misunderstood,  by 
those  whose  pleasure  it  should  have  been  to  un- 
derstand and  protect  her,  that  her  face  was  fairly 
radiant  with  joy  and  gratitude. 

"Then  you  don't  think  that  I  ought  to  marry 
him,  now  that  you  know  all?"  she  whispered. 

"Not  much;  not  if  I  can  help  it,"  I  declared. 

"But  I  must  pretend  to  marry  him.  You  can 
see  that,  can't  you?" 


198  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

"I  confess  I  am  now  more  averse  to  that  plan 
than  ever,"  I  replied. 

But  Beatrice  was  all  for  the  mock  marriage. 
For  Fielding  had  responded  to  all  her  reproaches 
with  the  often  repeated  promise  that  he  would 
make  a  clean  breast  of  the  whole  story  the  very 
moment  they  were  pronounced  man  and  wife. 
She  was  attracted  by  the  eclat  of  tricking  her 
would-be  husband  into  a  confession  which  would 
clear  her  in  the  eyes  of  her  incredulous  family.  I 
much  preferred  a  less  showy  and  less  risky 
course.  With  the  information  I  had  and  the  in- 
estimable advantage  which  the  possession  of  her 
manuscript  gave  me,  I  was  confident  that  I  could 
take  Apthorpe  aside  and,  without  disclosing  my 
identity,  show  him  the  irrefragable  proofs  that 
his  daughter  had  not  been  blameworthy.  I  was 
sure  I  could  make  him  see  that  the  actor  was  a 
lying  scoundrel.  With  Carl  Krull  on  the  scene 
the  following  morning  I  did  not  doubt  but  that 
the  case  would  be  established  conclusively  in  her 
favor. 

If  Apthorpe  were  once  thoroughly  convinced, 


ARTIFICE  199 

we  could  dispose  of  Fielding,  and  send  him  pack- 
ing in  short  order.  We  could  give  Samuel  Sears 
his  walking-ticket  at  the  same  time.  Personally 
that  was  the  most  pleasant  part  of  the  prospect. 
Sam  bothered  me.  The  little  drama  thus  brought 
to  a  happy  termination,  we  could  then  tell  the 
whole  story  of  the  imposture,  and  send  for  the 
Rev.  Charles  W.  Tupper. 

It  was  a  good  plan,  perfect  in  all  its  details, 
and  Beatrice  agreed  to  it,  though  not  without 
strong  reluctance  even  yet.  Her  heart  was  set 
upon  the  dramatic  denouement  of  a  mock  mar- 
riage ;  but  she  apparently  yielded  to  my  superior 
wisdom. 

She  was  in  the  midst  of  explaining  to  me  how 
she  had  met  the  young  clergyman,  and  why  she 
had  sought  to  prevent  his  coming  to  Burgmoor, 
when  the  sound  of  voices  and  approaching  foot- 
steps warned  us  that  we  were  in  danger  of  being 
interrupted.  For  the  supposed  clergyman  and 
the  prospective  bride  to  be  discovered  in  a  remote 
garden  retreat  whispering  together  in  the  twi- 
light was  far  from  desirable,  especially  when  one 


200  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

of  the  intruders  happened  to  be  the  bridegroom. 
Such  an  event  would  ruin  me  in  the  eyes  of  the 
young  lady's  family  and  probably  result  in  the 
complete  triumph  of  Fielding,  just  when  his  de- 
feat was  imminent. 

.They  were  almost  upon  us  before  we  noticed 
them,  so  absorbed  had  we  been  in  one  another  and 
our  mutual  interests.  Fielding  was  accompanied 
by  his  faithful  best  man,  Sam  Sears,  and  they 
also  were  deeply  engaged  in  conference,  or  our 
fate  would  have  been  sealed  then  and  there. 

Beatrice  was  the  first  to  take  alarm.  Before 
I  had  realized  what  was  in  the  wind  she  had 
sprung  to  her  feet  and  glided  from  the  arbor  into 
the  path,  where  she  accosted  them  gaily:  "What 
do  you  men  find  to  talk  about  that  is  so  interest- 
ing you  cannot  see  anybody?" 

Fielding  protested  that  he  had  been  waiting 
all  the  evening  for  a  chance  to  see  her,  and  had 
just  returned  from  a  short  drive  to  seek  for  her 
in  the  garden,  where  the  gardener  had  told  him 
he  would  find  her.  He  begged  her  to  take  a 


ARTIFICE  201 

walk  with  him,  saying:  "I  feel  sure  Mr.  Sears 
will  understand  and  excuse  us." 

"You  are  both  most  excusable,"  Sam  assured 
them. 

"Oh,  I  really  couldn't  think  of  it,  the  night 
before  the  wedding,  it  wouldn't  be  proper  at  all," 
said  Beatrice  with  a  light  laugh,  as  she  passed 
them  and  hurried  toward  the  house. 

Fielding  muttered  something  under  his  breath. 
I  fear  that  what  he  said  wasn't  very  polite. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

PLOT   AND   SURPRISE 

Miss  Apthorpe  had  done  her  best  to  create  a 
diversion  in  my  favor,  and  evidently  supposed 
she  had  given  me  ample  opportunity  to  escape 
from  the  arbor.  She  had,  perhaps,  forgotten  in 
her  hurry  and  excitement  that  it  backed  up 
against  a  wall  of  moss-covered  rock  and  was  over- 
spread with  a  tangle  of  grape-vines,  leaving  no 
possible  exit  save  that  which  would  bring  me  face 
to  face  with  Fielding  and  Sam  Sears.  For  once 
I  was  caught  in  a  trap  from  which  my  ingenuity 
could  devise  no  escape.  I  hoped  she  would  accept 
Fielding's  invitation  for  a  stroll  in  the  garden, 
and  thus  lead  him  from  such  unpleasant  and 
dangerous  proximity,  but  she  was  too  much 
averse  to  his  society  to  appreciate  the  importance 
of  momentary  complaisance. 

I  had  barely  time  to  slip  under  the  rustic  bench 


PLOT  AND  SURPRISE  203 

upon  which  we  had  been  seated,  lying  prone  on 
my  back,  with  the  grape-leaves  tickling  my  face, 
when  Sears  and  the  actor  entered  the  arbor  and 
seated  themselves  upon  the  bench  under  which  I 
had  taken  refuge. 

The  situation  was  distressingly  unpleasant. 
The  slightest  noise,  an  involuntary  sneeze  or 
cough,  incautiously  heavy  breathing,  even,  would 
betray  me,  and  I  should  be  dragged  from  my 
place  of  concealment,  and  called  upon  for  impos- 
sible explanations.  Fielding  would  have  me 

ejected  from  the  premises,  and  Sam !  The 

very  thought  of  his  triumphant  ridicule  was  in- 
tolerable. There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  wait, 
wait  quietly,  and  take  my  chances.  The  leaves 
tickled  until  it  became  torture,  while  every  per- 
verse impulse  of  my  nature  demanded  relief  in  a 
round  "cachoo!"  But  I  managed  to  avert  the 
calamity.  Meanwhile  the  pair  above  me  were 
saying  things. 

"That  young  clergyman  played  me  a  dirty 
trick  with  the  bishop,"  growled  Fielding.  "I 
would  cheerfully  lay  violent  hands  on  him.  if  I 


204  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

could  do  it  safely,  and  teach  him  a  thing  or  two." 

"Perhaps  it  can  be  arranged,"  urged  Sears, 
gleefully.  "I'd  like  to  help  you  with  the  details. 
Do  you  think  there  would  be  time  after  the 
service?" 

Sam  wouldn't  actually  give  me  away;  but, 
short  of  that,  he  was  with  the  enemy.  My  score 
against  Mr.  Sears  was  becoming  a  long  one. 

"It  wouldn't  quite  do,"  returned  Fielding. 
"We  couldn't  afford  any  scandal,  you  know." 

"Oh,  there  wouldn't  be  any  fuss,"  said  Samuel. 
"He  wouldn't  want  any  publication  of  the  details. 
You  know  I  said  I  would  take  care  of  them.  We 
could  lure  him  to  a  quiet  spot  and  give  him  a 
little  medicine.  You  are  on  your  way  to  Europe, 
you  know.  He  wouldn't  follow  you."  And 
Samuel  Sears  chuckled  inanely.  He  had  in  pros- 
pect my  ultimate  exposure,  and  was  laying  plans 
for  the  finale,  which  would  be  more  picturesque 
were  I  duly  castigated  at  the  hands  of  the  irate 
husband.  Sam's  sense  of  humor  was  somewhat 
grotesque,  as  I  have  already  made  apparent.  To 
him  it  was  all  a  jolly  game,  with  visions  of  good 


PLOT  AND  SURPRISE  205 

copy  in  the  background.  I  would  have  given  a 
handsome  sum  if  I  could  have  ventured  to  stick 
my  penknife  into  his  leg,  just  then,  but  I  had  to 
bide  my  time. 

"I  was  just  going  to  explain  things  to  you, 
about  Beatrice,  you  know,"  said  Fielding.  "You 
must  have  remarked  her  rather  peculiar  treatment 
of  me?" 

"She  has  been  somewhat  cool  to  you,  and  it 
made  me  wonder  what  was  in  the  wind,"  acknowl- 
edged Sam.  "There  is  nothing  wrong  about  this 
business?"  he  added  seriously. 

"Nothing  wrong  when  you  understand  how 
deeply  and  devotedly  I  love  her,"  returned  the 
actor  impressively.  "I  have  been  obliged  to  em- 
ploy a  little  artifice  to  manage  her  and  to  bring 
her  family  to  my  way  of  thinking — all's  fair  in 
love,  you  know." 

"Trite  but  true,"  commented  the  facetious 
Sears. 

"She  was  a  bit  stage-struck,  you  see," 
explained  Fielding,  "and  was  quite  willing  to 
meet  me  for  little  dinners  about  town,  and  the 


206  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

like,  but  I  could  not  bring  her  to  the  point  of  say- 
ing she  would  marry  me ;  so  I  sent  a  letter  to  her 
father,  unsigned,  of  course,  saying  that  if  he 
would  go  to  a  certain  restaurant  he  would  find 
his  daughter  dining  privately  with  the  actor, 
Fielding.  The  scene  that  followed  was  dramatic 
in  the  extreme — irate  parent,  tearful  mother, 
vengeful  brother-in-law,  indignant  protests  from 
the  young  lady,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  I  handled 
them  all  with  kid  gloves ;  and,  as  a  result,  the  en- 
gagement was  announced." 

His  own  conduct  didn't  seem  so  black  the  way 
he  told  the  story,  suppressing  the  all-important 
feature  of  the  comedy  she  had  written.  Sam  was 
his  friend,  liked  and  admired  him,  was  even  prone 
to  find  excuses  for  him.  Fielding  led  him  by  the 
nose,  as  he  did  every  one  who  fell  under  the 
glamour  of  his  influence. 

"It's  a  bit  rough  on  the  girl,  isn't  it?"  was 
Sam's  only  protest. 

"Not  when  you  consider  that  the  whole  story 
is  kept  in  the  family,  and  that  she  would  have 
been  glad  to  marry  me  anyway,  had  she  consid- 


PLOT  AND  SURPRISE  207 

ered  me  her  social   equal,"   asserted   Fielding. 

"Then  she  still  really  cares  for  you  at  heart?" 
asked  Sears. 

"I  am  confident  I  have  her  love,"  declared  the 
actor.  "It's  her  pride  I  have  to  conquer.  She  is 
a  spirited  creature,  but  I  shall  see  to  it  that  she 
is  a  submissive  wife.  That  is  one  result  I  have 
hoped  to  accomplish  by  this  unpleasant  but  neces- 
sary artifice." 

"It's  a  clever  one,"  chuckled  the  jovial  but  un- 
scrupulous Sam.  "Like  a  play,  isn't  it?  Wonder 
if  she  has  confided  her  troubles  to  that  young 
minister?" 

"You  don't  think  that  possible?"  cried  Field- 
ing in  evident  alarm. 

"You  never  can  tell.  Women  take  to  the 
clergy  like  ducks  to  water,"  philosophized  Mr. 
Sears. 

"Have  you  seen  them  together?"  demanded 
Fielding. 

"Not  often,  but  he's  a  bad  one,  keep  your  eye 
on  him,"  cautioned  my  fellow  scribe. 

"Have  you  anything  definite  against  him?" 


208  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

"Nothing,  as  yet,  only  he  has  a  shifty  way 
about  him — can't  look  you  square  in  the  eye." 

My  account  with  Samuel  was  growing  apace. 
It  would  take  a  lot  of  ingenuity  on  my  part  to 
even  things  up  and  I  began  to  meditate  cruel  and 
unusual  punishments.  Sam  hadn't  actually  be- 
trayed me,  to  be  sure,  but  he  might  do  so  sooner 
or  later,  if  he  took  the  notion.  And,  meantime, 
he  had  said  enough  to  make  my  path  precarious 
and  ultimate  exposure  almost  certain. 

Presently  Sears  and  Fielding  arose  from  their 
seat,  left  the  arbor  and  sauntered  toward  the 
house,  while  I  emerged  from  my  uncomfortable 
place  of  concealment  to  resume  the  enterprise 
in  which  I  was  engaged.  I  planned  to  go  to  my 
room  at  once  and  get  the  manuscript  of  the  play. 
Hence  I  proposed  to  proceed  to  Mr.  Apthorpe's 
study  and  lay  before  him  the  convincing  proofs 
of  his  daughter's  innocence  and  Fielding's  guilt. 
I  thought  it  wouldn't  take  many  minutes  to  do 
this.  With  the  stern  and  wrong-headed  parent 
for  an  ally  I  thought  that  swift  retribution  would 
be  visited  on  the  actor  and  on  Sam  Sears.  Yes, 


PLOT  AND  SURPRISE  209 

particularly  and  individually  on  Mr.  Sears.  Of 
that  I  would  undertake  personal  supervision, 
while  leaving  Fielding  to  more  potent  hands. 
Sam  for  me ! 

When  I  finally  retired  to  my  room  for  the  night 
I  had  arranged  with  Beatrice  to  rap  on  the  door 
which  led  from  my  room  to  hers,  against  which  a 
dresser  was  standing.  I  was  to  rap  once,  if  her 
father  was  convinced  of  her  innocence,  and  twice 
if  he  required  further  proof.  In  the  latter  event 
she  was  to  meet  me  in  the  garden  at  sunrise  and 
prepare  for  any  fresh  contingency. 

I  sauntered  slowly  from  the  arbor,  devising 
the  best  method  of  introducing  the  delicate  sub- 
ject to  the  girl's  father,  and  then  went  to  my 
room. 

I  put  my  hand  into  the  bag.  The  play  was  not 
there! 

A  few  minutes  from  the  time  when  the  course 
leading  to  safe  anchorage  lay  plainly  before  us 
all  our  plans  were  knocked  into  a  cocked  hat  and 
the  clouds  gathered  darker  than  ever.  The  dis- 
appearance of  the  manuscript  was  a  body-blow. 


210  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

I  churned  around  among  the  things  in  the  bag 
and  thrust  my  hand  into  its  linings.  I  turned  it 
upside  down  and  shook  its  contents  on  the  floor. 
The  precious  document  had  seemingly  taken  unto 
itself  wings  and  flown  away! 

Then  I  began  to  rummage  frantically  about  the 
room,  poking  under  the  bed  and  other  furniture, 
opening  drawers  and  shutting  them,  and  creating 
a  dreadful  racket.  Beatrice  heard  the  rumpus 
and  knocked  timidly  upon  the  door  behind  the 
dresser.  "What  is  the  matter?"  she  whispered. 

"It  is  gone;  some  one  has  stolen  it!"  I  ex- 
claimed in  dismay. 

"Impossible;  let  me  come  in  and  look,"  re- 
turned that  imprudent  young  lady. 

Of  course  it  was  indiscreet,  but  we  were  fight- 
ing for  her  honour  and  happiness  and  had  to  take 
all  chances,  whatever  might  happen. 

I  moved  the  dresser,  and  she  opened  the  door 
and  came  in.  She  blushed  prettily.  She  knew 
well  enough  that  it  was  quite  improper  for  her  to 
be  in  my  room  at  half  past  nine  in  the  evening, 
and  that  if  discovered  she  would  be  in  another 


PLOT  AND  SURPRISE  211 

bad  scrape.  The  all  important  thing,  though, 
was  to  find  that  manuscript.  We  did  not  bother 
our  heads  much  about  anything  else. 

We  searched  high  and  low.  We  stripped  the 
bed  and  turned  over  the  mattress.  We  ran- 
sacked every  place,  possible  and  impossible. 
Then  the  ineludable  truth  became  very  evident. 
I  had  been  robbed;  the  manuscript  had  been 
stolen!  Sam  Sears  had  been  in  the  room  and  must 
have  seen  it  lying  in  the  open  grip  or  on  the  bu- 
reau. At  first  blush  it  seemed  highly  probable 
that  he  had  taken  it,  thinking  to  do  a  service  for 
his  friend  Fielding. 

Here,  again,  I  was  up  a  tree.  The  theory  was 
untenable.  Fielding  had  not  taken  Sears  into 
his  confidence  about  the  play.  If  Sam  had  known 
all  the  facts  he  would  never  have  sided  with  the 
actor  at  all.  I  had  many  proofs  of  his  honor  and 
good  faith.  He  has  no  sense  of  propriety;  he 
thinks  many  things  smart  that  are  not.  But  he 
wouldn't  countenance  a  fellow  like  Fielding,  if 
shown  in  his  true  colors. 

But  if  Sears  didn't  do  it,  then  Fielding  must 


HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

have  done  it  himself.  There  was  no  alternative. 
In  either  case  it  was  clear  that  the  actor  must 
much  more  than  suspect  my  disguise.  He  would 
never  look  for  such  a  find  among  the  possessions 
of  the  Rev.  Charles  W.  Tupper. 

Without  the  manuscript  I  had  no  case  to  pres- 
sent  to  Apthorpe.  My  story  would  sound  quite 
as  wild  and  improbable  as  that  of  Beatrice  her- 
self. Even  Carl  Krull  could  not  help  me,  for  he 
had  never  seen  the  authoress  and  did  not  know 
her  name.  Without  the  manuscript  he  would 
scarcely  be  able  to  identify  the  handwriting  with 
that  of  Beatrice  so  positively  as  to  carry  convic- 
tion. 

On  the  other  hand,  we  were  in  momentary 
dread  of  the  next  move  on  the  part  of  an 
intriguer  so  clever.  He  would  doubtless  have  his 
trap  ready  to  spring,  to  my  confusion,  before 
noon  the  next  day. 

Beatrice  tried  to  put  as  cheerful  a  face  on  the 
matter  as  possible.  She  said  to  me  that  it  was  no 
use  worrying  and  that  it  would  all  come  out  right ; 
that  I  would  save  her  somehow.  At  worst  we 


PLOT  AND  SURPRISE 
could  await  events  and  trust  to  luck.  We  would 
stand  by  our  guns  until  the  bitter  end,  anyhow, 
she  assured  me.  She  seemed  to  take  a  lot  of  com- 
fort from  my  presence  and  smiled  upon  me  cheer- 
fully, appearing  to  think  that  I  could  work  mir- 
acles. I  told  her  to  secure  a  good  night's  rest 
and  be  fresh  for  whatever  might  happen  the  next 
day. 

She  left  me  to  my  reflections,  which  were  any- 
thing but  rosy.  I  paced  back  and  forth  in  the 
fruitless  endeavor  to  see  some  way  out  of  the 
snarl,  which  looked  pretty  dark  to  me.  The  mys- 
terious theft  upset  me  completely,  dismayed  and 
puzzled  me  to  an  extent  I  had  not  dared  to  con- 
fess to  her.  She  had  all  the  troubles  she  could 
well  stand  as  it  was.  It  was  time  some  one  took 
them  off  her  shoulders. 

At  the  very  moment  when  I  was  feeling  more 
depressed  and  downcast  than  I  had  at  any  time 
from  the  beginning  of  the  adventure,  I  heard  a 
loud  laugh  in  the  room  next  mine,  on  the  side  op- 
posite to  that  occupied  by  Beatrice.  I  recognized 
the  irritating,  insensate  risibility  of  Samuel  Sears. 


HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 
I  felt  sufficiently  out  of  sorts,  anyway,  and  that 
was  the  last  straw.  A  man  who  would  laugh  like 
that  all  day  long  over  nothing  was  fool  enough 
to  be  a  mere  tool  in  the  hands  of  a  cunning  rascal. 
What  in  the  world  was  the  fellow  hooting  about 
now,  I  wondered.  Had  he  heard  us  hunting  for 
the  lost  manuscript — was  he  laughing  at  our  sad 
plight? 

Then  I  heard  his  door  open  and  shut.  He  had 
stepped  out  into  the  hall  and  was  tiptoeing  down 
the  stairs.  Where  was  he  going?  What  deviltry 
was  he  up  to?  I  considered  it  highly  essential 
to  find  an  answer  to  these  questions.  Sam  Sears 
required  close  watching,  or  I  might  have  cause 
to  repent  my  lack  of  alertness. 

I  stole  out  after  him  and  silently  followed  him 
down  the  staircase  and  out  the  front  door,  skulk- 
ing like  an  Indian  on  the  war-path. 


CHAPTER  XV 

ON  THE  TRAIL 

When  we  left  the  house  and  entered  upon  the 
vivid  contrasts  of  deep  shade  and  silver  sheen 
created  by  the  moonlight,  Samuel  Sears  saun- 
tered along  as  though  he  had  not  a  care  in  the 
world.  He  appeared  to  be  in  no  hurry,  but 
glanced  at  his  watch,  yawned  and  strolled  down 
to  the  front  gate. 

Henry,  the  gardener,  had  gone  to  bed.  He 
didn't  think  the  reporters  he  was  looking  for 
would  play  any  pranks  after  ten  o'clock  at  night. 
I  dodged  after  Samuel,  gliding  from  the  shadow 
of  one  tree  into  that  of  another. 

He  went  out  into  the  road  and  down  the  hill 
toward  the  station.  It  looked  very  much  like  a 
secret  rendezvous,  and  I  followed  closely.  Sud- 
denly he  turned  and  walked  back  again.  I  was 
nearly  caught  napping,  and  had  to  jump  into  a 
clump  of  bramble-bushes  and  lie  still  with  prick- 


216  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

ers  sticking  into  me  all  over  until  he  had  passed 

by- 

I  suffered  for  my  sins  in  those  few  minutes.  I 
hadn't  scratched  out  both  my  eyes,  like  the  man  in 
"Mother  Goose,"  but  I  had  scratched  out  pretty 
nearly  everything  else.  The  dominie's  frock-coat 
was  beginning  to  look  rather  seedy.  I  accom- 
plished one  good  thing,  though;  I  tore  a  big  rip 
in  those  elaborate  trousers. 

Sears  walked  up  the  driveway  to  the  veranda- 
steps,  looked  at  his  watch  once  more  and  returned 
to  the  road,  this  time  turning  up  hill  toward  the 
church.  He  was  evidently  early  for  his  appoint- 
ment and  was  killing  time. 

I  could  not  be  sure,  however,  that  he  was  not 
doubling  about  to  elude  possible  surveillance,  and 
thought  it  best  to  keep  him  in  sight.  I  shall  not 
attempt  to  describe  our  wanderings  in  further  de- 
tail. I  followed  him  about  for  nearly  an  hour. 
He  finally  brought  up  at  the  gate  in  the  rear  of 
the  garden  and  sat  down  to  wait.  Clearly  this 
was  his  final  destination,  his  place  of  rendezvous 
with  his  co-conspirator. 


ON  THE  TRAIL  217 

For  whom  was  he  waiting?  Not  for  Fielding, 
surely,  as  he  had  just  parted  from  him.  But  I 
was  positive  the  meeting  would  throw  some  light 
on  the  purloined  manuscript  and  the  plans  of  my 
enemies  for  my  downfall  on  the  morrow.  I 
listened  intently,  but  could  hear  no  sound  of 
approaching  footsteps. 

Sam  Sears  now  looked  at  his  watch  every  min- 
ute or  two.  He  was  growing  impatient;  his 
confederate  was  sadly  behind  time.  He  had  a 
note-book  and  pencil  in  hand,  and  he  began  to 
write.  When  I  observed  that,  the  truth  dawned 
upon  me. 

I  had  been  following  him  all  over  a  ten-acre  lot, 
getting  torn  by  brambles,  barking  my  shins  and 
blistering  my  hands,  and  all  the  time  my  quarry 
was  merely  trying  to  kill  time  while  waiting  for 
me! 

It  was  I  who  had  the  appointment  with  him  at 
the  rear  garden-gate.  I  had  promised  to  reveal 
to  him  the  secrets  of  my  prison-house,  or  any 
other  ghost-story  I  could  make  him  believe,  or 
even  half  believe,  with  the  aid  of  suavity  and 


218  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

moonshine.  He  was  anticipating  a  tale  which 
would  supply  him  with  copy  for  a  big  scarehead, 
and  sat  there,  with  faith  in  me  that  was  really 
childlike,  note-book  all  ready,  awaiting  my 
arrival. 

Well,  he  would  have  to  wait.  When  I  prom- 
ised to  unfold  my  story  I  thought  it  would  be 
easy  enough  to  fill  him  up  with  a  yarn  that  would 
look  extremely  well  in  print,  even  if  it  had  but 
small  foundation  in  fact.  The  trouble  was  I  had 
been  able  to  spare  no  time  to  invent  it.  If  I 
could  only  have  been  preparing  a  tale  for  his  ears 
instead  of  "playing  Indian"  there  might  have 
been  a  chance ;  but  I  had  worked  my  machine  for 
grinding  out  romances  so  hard  that  it  refused  to 
budge.  The  cogs  slipped  and  failed  to  work. 

While  I  was  cudgeling  my  brains  to  concoct 
some  scheme  that  would  dispose  of  Samuel  until 
after  the  wedding,  I  heard  a  gentle  "hist"  at  my 
side.  A  form  was  gliding  toward  me  through 
the  shadows.  It  proved  to  be  the  Rev.  Charles 
W.  Tupper.  The  young  clergyman  seemed  very 
much  excited  and  intensely  in  earnest. 


ON  THE  TRAIL  219 

"Shall  we  creep  upon  him  now  and  capture 
him  while  he  is  off  his  guard?"  he  asked  in  a 
whisper. 

"On  whom?"  I  returned  in  some  astonishment. 

Tupper  pointed  to  Sam  Sears.  "Don't  you 
see  him?  I  thought  you  were  watching  him!"  he 
said. 

Then  I  understood.  He  had  taken  me  seri- 
ously about  getting  Sears  out  of  our  way,  and 
was  fully  prepared  to  play  his  part  in  the  re- 
moval. Doubtless,  as  he  had  promised,  he  had 
thought  up  some  scheme.  He  was  a  manly  fel- 
low, that  young  parson,  and  handy  with  his  fists, 
as  I  had  cause  to  remember.  His  interest  in  the 
adventure  was  thoroughly  aroused,  and  he  meant 
to  see  things  through  to  a  finish. 

"What  can  we  do  with  him,  after  we  have  got 
him?"  I  asked. 

"I  have  found  a  fine  prison,"  he  returned  with 
apparent  seriousness.  "There  is  a  deserted  house, 
half  a  mile  up  the  road,  and  back  of  it  is  a  small 
building  where  the  former  tenants  used  to  keep 
their  hens.  I  judge  so,  at  least,  by  the  number 


220  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

of  feathers  about.  It  would  be  a  safe  place.  No 
one  would  ever  think  of  looking  for  him  there, 
and  he  would  come  to  no  harm." 

That  seemed  probable  enough.  Sam  couldn't 
get  into  mischief  in  a  deserted  hen-roost,  though 
I  wouldn't  vouch  for  him  anywhere  else.  I  be- 
gan to  get  interested.  The  plan  looked  more 
feasible  than  I  had  at  first  thought,  though  there 
were  still  serious  objections. 

"How  can  we  persuade  him  to  stay  there,  after 
we  have  captured  him  and  carried  him  off?"  I 
queried.  I  wish  to  make  it  clear,  both  to  Sam 
and  to  the  public  at  large,  that  the  dominie  was 
the  one  who  planned  the  whole  thing,  and  that  I 
merely  acquiesced  because  I  could  see  no  other 
way  open. 

"Oh,  I  have  been  studying  the  thing  out  all  the 
afternoon,"  whispered  Tupper.  "I  hadn't  any- 
thing else  to  do,  and  I  knew  you  depended  on  me. 
I  would  do  anything  for  her,  and  I  have  it  all 
arranged  down  to  the  smallest  detail.  Of  course 
you  were  not  serious  about  the  chloroform  busi- 
ness ;  and,  anyway,  it's  too  risky." 


ON  THE  TRAIL 

"I  also  am  enlisted  in  her  cause  to  the  death. 
What's  the  scheme?"  said  I. 

"Well,  we  don't  want  to  hurt  him,  or  drug  him, 
or  anything  like  that.  It  would  be  wrong  to  tie 
him  up  tight  and  stop  the  circulation.  He  would 
suffers  agonies  before  to-morrow  noon,  if  we  did 
that.  I  have  been  searching  for  clothes-line  all 
the  afternoon,  and  have  collected  twenty  coils  of 
it  and  piled  them  around  the  gate.  He  is  sitting 
on  some  of  it  now.  We  won't  pull  it  tight,  but 
we  will  wind  it  about  him  until  there  is  no  pos- 
sible chance  of  his  breaking  loose,  and  yet  there 
will  be  no  strain  on  him  anywhere.  We  can  make 
the  pressure  even  all  over,  you  see." 

Poor,  unsuspicious,  trusting  Samuel!  He  lit- 
tle guessed  what  fell  designs  were  being  enter- 
tained against  him.  That  energetic  parson  had 
industriously  gathered  several  hundred  feet  of 
rope  and  stored  it  in  the  vicinity.  I  hesitated. 
It  was  a  drastic  remedy,  but  Sam  was  sorely  in 
the  way.  I  had  fully  expected  to  find  some  means 
of  packing  him  off  after  the  bishop ;  but  as  I  had 
failed  to  devise  any  fraud  that  would  serve  the 


822  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

purpose,  brute  force  seemed  all  that  remained. 
Of  course  there  were  chances  to  take,  but  I  had 
been  doing  that  all  day  long. 

Yet  I  did  not  like  the  idea;  it  lacked  finesse. 
It  was  too  easy  and  had  no  subtlety  about  it.  It 
wasn't  my  way  of  doing  things,  and  would  never 
have  occurred  to  me  if  it  had  not  been  for  the 
parson.  It  was  amusing  to  see  how  ardent  he 
was  in  the  nefarious  business.  He  had  nothing 
to  do  but  plan  that  piece  of  deviltry ;  and,  on  the 
whole,  he  planned  it  well. 

Well,  I  had  promised  to  give  Samuel  Sears 
something  to  think  about.  I  had  agreed  to  give 
him  material  for  a  sensational  article.  I  had  no 
story  to  relate  to  him,  so  I'd  have  to  enact  one, 
I  was  in  honor  bound  to  do  it.  Of  course  he 
might  not  be  in  a  position  to  write  it  up  right 
away,  but  it  would  keep.  Besides,  he  was  likely 
to  prove  a  troublesome  customer  if  left  at  large. 
Clearly,  it  would  be  a  good  plan  to  render  his  ar- 
dent impulses  inactive  for  a  short  period. 

His  subsequent  account  of  his  adventures  in 
that  hen-roost  was  a  remarkable  story;  and  he 


ON  THE  TRAIL  223 

didn't  give  me  any  credit  for  "putting  him  on," 
as  it  were,  either. 

The  die  was  cast.  The  two  of  us  stole  upon 
that  unsuspicious  journalist  like  a  couple  of  In- 
dians. 

There  he  was,  actually  sitting  on  several  coils 
of  the  rope  that  was  to  be  instrumental  in  his 
captivity.  He  was,  perhaps,  dreaming  of  his 
sweetheart,  as  he  sat  there  in  the  moonlight,  tak- 
ing in  the  ozone  as  it  was  wafted  from  the  pines 
of  the  hills.  If  ever  the  world  seemed  at  peace 
to  the  contemplative  soul  of  Samuel  Sears  it  was 
then. 

Suddenly  he  felt  his  hands  pinioned  behind  him 
while  a  cloth  was  thrust  rudely  into  his  mouth. 
He  has  complained  since  that  it  wasn't  a  nice, 
clean  napkin  but  an  old  dish-cloth  the  parson  had 
found  hanging  on  one  of  the  clothes-lines.  Sam 
is  too  particular ;  war  is  hell. 

Of  course  he  struggled  like  a  madman,  but  he 
was  taken  by  surprise  and  we  were  too  many  for 
him.  After  reducing  him  to  submission  we  wound 
him  up  in  the  clothes-line.  It  took  some  time. 


HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 
There  was  a  lot  of  it  around,  and  we  didn't  wish 
to  waste  any.  When  we  had  used  up  all  Sam  had 
been  sitting  on,  I  held  our  victim  while  the  parson 
fetched  another  coil  from  its  hiding-place.  I  had 
never  before  handled  so  much  rope  all  at  once  in 
my  life.  We  wound  it  carefully  and  symmetri- 
cally, so  that  the  pressure  would  be  perfectly 
even  and  not  very  tight  anywhere.  We  were  as 
careful  of  his  comfort  as  we  would  have  been  of 
that  of  a  new-born  baby. 

When  we  had  finished  Sam  looked  like  a  big 
ball  of  yarn,  or  a  spool  of  wire.  There  was  no 
danger  of  his  catching  cold,  we  were  very  careful 
about  that.  He  could  have  stood  many  de- 
grees below  zero  with  the  wraps  we  furnished 
him.  We  made  him  spherical,  like  the  earth,  just 
a  little  flattened  at  the  poles. 

We  lifted  him  up  between  us,  but  it  was  about 
all  we  could  stagger  under.  Part  of  the  weight 
was  Sam,  but  more  if  it  was  rope.  We  car- 
ried him  about  half  a  mile  up  the  hill  to  the  un- 
occupied house,  and  back  to  the  hen-coop  in  the 
rear.  It  was  a  hard  pull.  I  wanted  to  roll  him 


ON  THE  TRAIL  225 

along  in  front  of  us,  but  the  dominie  wouldn't  let 
me.  "It  might  make  him  dizzy,"  he  urged. 

"He's  a  giddy  youth,  anyway;  a  little  extra 
whirling  about  won't  hurt  him,"  I  argued. 

"But  if  he  should  slip,  if  we  should  have  an 
accident,  just  think  how  far  he'd  roll!"  protested 
the  dominie. 

"I'd  like  to  see,"  said  I,  and  we  both  turned 
our  glances  down  the  steep  hill  into  the  dim  val- 
ley where  the  river  ran  three  miles  away  and  a 
thousand  feet  below. 

Sam's  feet  wiggled.  He  couldn't  join  in  the  dis- 
cussion and  argue  the  point  because  of  an  artifi- 
cial impediment  in  his  speech,  but  he  managed  to 
display  his  emotions,  just  the  same,  by  the  fright- 
ful agitation  of  his  feet — which  goes  to  show 
what  a  short  remove  we  are  from  the  dumb  ani- 
mals. Stop  our  mouths  and  our  other  members 
begin  to  be  expressive. 

Just  then  we  heard  the  sound  of  wheels  rapidly 
approaching.  A  carriage  was  coming  toward  us 
down  the  road  at  a  rapid  pace  and  was  almost 
upon  us.  We  had  to  ditch  Sam.  There  was  no 


226  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

help  for  it,  and  he  bounded  into  the  roadside  gul- 
ly like  a  rubber  ball.  We  crouched  behind  some 
bushes  and  the  vehicle  passed  us  and  disappeared 
down  the  hill,  but  we  had  a  bad  scare.  So  did 
Sam.  He  thought  we  had  let  him  slip  and  that 
he  had  started  in  a  three-mile  journey  down  hill 
toward  the  river — so  he  said  afterwards,  any- 
how. 

Then  we  took  up  our  burden  and  struggled 
on,  reaching  our  destination  after  half  an  hour's 
hard  labour.  At  the  gate  of  the  deserted  farm- 
house Tupper  had  placed  a  couple  of  lanterns 
which  we  lighted  before  taking  Sam  to  his  place 
of  confinement.  We  needed  them,  for  it  was 
dark  as  pitch  in  the  coop.  It  was  a  little  stuffy 
in  there  and  smelled  some  of  chickens,  but  it  was 
otherwise  comfortable  enough.  There  was  plenty 
of  straw  on  the  floor  and  lots  of  soft,  downy 
feathers.  I  think  they  must  have  plucked  a  whole 
flock  of  chickens  in  that  coop  at  some  time,  or 
else  dumped  the  contents  of  an  old  feather-bed 
on  the  floor.  It  was  the  featheriest  place  I  was 
ever  in. 


ON  THE  TRAIL  227 

It  was  important  to  determine  whether  Sam 
could  be  heard  from  the  road,  should  he  call  for 
help,  for  we  could  not  leave  him  gagged  all  night. 
So  Tupper  went  out  to  the  gate  to  listen  while  I 
removed  the  napkin  from  Sam's  mouth.  For  a 
second  or  so  he  couldn't  say  anything.  He  merely 
gasped  and  spat  out  lint  and  such  portions  of  the 
napkin  as  I  had  failed  to  extract. 

When  he  was  fully  uncorked  the  language  be- 
gan to  come  out  the  way  champagne  spurts  up 
from  the  mouth  of  a  bottle  when  it  is  overwarm. 
That  was  Sam's  trouble;  he  was  too  hot.  If 
we  could  only  have  laid  him  away  on  ice  there 
wouldn't  have  been  so  much  said.  When  cham- 
pagne is  chilled  a  bit  a  lot  of  it  stays  in  the  bot- 
tle after  the  cork  is  drawn.  It  wasn't  that  way 
with  Sam.  When  the  stopper  was  removed  all 

the  words  he  had  inside  of  him  came  out  with  a 
rush. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

CAPTIVE 

I  was  glad  to  be  alone  with  Samuel  Sears  for 
a  few  minutes.  I  wanted  to  have  a  heart  to  heart 
talk  with  him,  in  the  first  place;  and,  secondly, 
what  he  said  would  have  shocked  the  minister — it 
even  shocked  me  a  bit,  his  talk  was  so  wild  and 
bloodthirsty. 

The  first  words  were  merely  oaths  of  a  type  so 
varied  and  ornate  that  they  would  have  qualified 
Sam  to  become  a  rear-admiral.  The  .volley  of 
hot  shot  was  followed  by  grape  and  canister 
somewhat  after  this  fashion:  "Oh,  you  jackasses! 
Just  wait — only  wait — knaves!  fools!  impostors! 
scoundrels!  swindlers — oh,  I'll  get  even  with  you 
before  I  die!  Hounds!  whelps!  curs!  dogs!  (and 
I  forget  what  other  canine  varieties)  clowns! 
chumps!  bally  idiots!  silly  asses!  Oh,  you  think 
you're  funny,  don't  you?" 


CAPTIVE  229 

"Calm  yourself,  my  dear  fellow,  calm  your- 
self," I  protested. 

"I'll  murder  you  for  this,  Basil  Plympton,  I'll 
have  your  heart's  blood,  just  see  if  I  don't," 
bawled  Samuel,  fairly  beside  himself  with  fury. 

I  saw  that  he  was  in  a  frame  cf  mind  more 
dangerous  to  himself  than  to  me,  but  that  he  had 
not  yet  acquired  the  humble  and  contrite  heart 
and  meekness  of  spirit  that  I  was  endeavoring  to 
cultivate  in  him,  and  in  all  others  with  whom  I 
might  come  in  contact  while  I  wore  the  cloth. 
Besides,  there  were  a  number  of  things  I  wanted 
to  say  to  him  and  I  felt  he  must  be  rendered  more 
amenable  to  reason  before  it  would  be  worth  my 
while  to  enter  into  serious  conversation. 

As  he  was  starting  upon  a  fresh  tirade  of  abuse 
I  gave  him  a  push  and  set  him  rolling  around  the 
hen-coop  on  a  little  practice  excursion.  He 
whirled  about  and  about,  rapidly  absorbing 
feathers,  until  he  became  an  animated  ball  of 
them.  This  downy  globule  was  meanwhile  ex- 
claiming: "Help,  murder!  fire!  thieves!  robbers! 
help !  help !"  But  the  voice  was  choked  with  wrath 


230  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

and  other  things,   and  didn't  prove  effective. 

I  can't  see  why  he  should  have  been  so  un- 
reasonable. I  had  merely  changed  his  status. 
He  wasn't  a  featherless  biped  any  more — he  was 
a  whole  world  in  himself,  trying  to  find  an  orbit 
and  revolve  on  an  axis.  It  must  be  fun  to  try 
such  an  experiment.  You  can  do  lots  of  things 
and  enjoy  all  sorts  of  novel  and  interesting  ex- 
periences. The  chief  problem  was  to  keep  him- 
self inclined  at  a  proper  angle  to  the  plane  of  the 
ecliptic.  He  had  to  bear  in  mind  that  his  head 
was  the  north  pole  and  should  always  be  kept  at 
the  top  of  the  map. 

This  was  his  chief  difficulty  in  his  debut  in  a 
"star"  part.  It  would  seem  that  even  a  planet 
has  to  take  lessons  in  curves  and  functions.  He 
undertook  to  circulate  with  his  south  pole  up  and 
his  north  pole  down — hence  the  occasional  choke 
in  his  voice  and  his  difficulty  in  enunciating  his 
sentiments  clearly.  All  this  was  excellent  prac- 
tice. Why  shouldn't  he  learn  the  business  of  be- 
ing a  sphere  while  he  was  at  it? 

It  was  at  this  juncture  that  the  parson  returned 


CAPTIVE  231 

and  undertook  to  interfere.  He  said  I  was  car- 
rying things  too  far.  I  tried  to  explain  that  it 
was  all  for  Sam's  good,  but  he  seemed  to  think 
I  had  some  personal  grudge  to  satisfy  in  spite 
of  my  most  earnest  disclaimer. 

"This  won't  do,"  asserted  Tupper. 

"Could  you  hear  him  out  by  the  gate?"  I  asked. 

"Not  a  whisper,  but  that  is  all  the  more  reason 
why  we  should  be  gentle  in  our  treatment  of  him. 
We  can't  let  him  stay  all  night  rolling  around 
with  his  heels  higher  than  his  head.  We  will 
have  to  unwind  some  of  the  line." 

"Don't  do  that,"  I  expostulated.  "He  is  a  bit 
unbalanced  just  now,  but  with  a  little  practice 
and  self-control  he  will  regain  both  his  mental 
and  his  physical  equilibrium." 

But  the  parson  wouldn't  pay  any  attention  to 
these  well-meant  suggestions.  He  rolled  Sam 
gently  into  a  corner  and  unwound  enough  of  the 
line  from  the  middle  and  upper  hemisphere  so  that 
Sam's  head  tilted  upwards,  while  the  ungrateful 
and  belligerent  spheroid  glared  at  us  and  tried 
to  collect  his  scattered  senses  and  realize  what 


HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

had  happened  to  him,  anyhow.  When  he  spoke 
again  he  was  more  civil.  He  had  been  whirled 
about  until  he  was  sick  and  dizzy,  and  he  didn't 
want  any  more  of  that  sort  of  medicine,  so  he 
endeavored  to  be  more  polite. 

"Look  here,  Basil  Plympton,  and  you  other 
fellow,  whoever  you  are,"  he  cried,  "what  is  the 
meaning  of  this  infamous  outrage,  anyway?" 

"We  think  you  need  rest,  Samuel,"  I  explained 
soothingly.  "This  is  a  sanitarium  and  we  are  all 
trying  to  help  you  and  aid  in  your  recovery." 

"It's  a  blame-fool  trick,  but  if  you  will  unwind 
this  stuff  and  let  me  go,  I'll  try  and  for- 
give you." 

"It  is  the  general  opinion  of  your  friends  that 
it  isn't  safe  for  you  to  be  at  large,"  I  declared. 
"You  have  the  delusion  that  you  have  been  turned 
into  a  planet  and  must  learn  how  to  revolve." 

"How  long  are  you  going  to  keep  up  this  non- 
sense?" 

"You  don't  like  being  a  sphere,  eh?  Well,  if 
I  couldn't  be  a  better  one  than  you,  I'd  sell  out. 
Come  now,  would  you  prefer  being  turned  into 


CAPTIVE  2S3 

something  else,  say  a  poached  egg  or  a  Bismark 
herring?" 

"Shut  up,  you  miserable  tree-toad!"  raged  our 
unreasonable  patient. 

"You  see  he  has  delusions,"  I  said  to  the  cleric. 
"How  about  a  terrapin  or  a  bald-headed  eagle?" 

"Don't  goad  him  to  madness,"  interposed  the 
dominie.  "He  will  injure  himself  if  you  keep  it 
up  much  longer — have  a  stroke  of  apoplexy  or 
something." 

"Oh,  you  are  worse  than  he,  with  your  infernal 
hypocrisy,"  sneered  Samuel.  "You  must  be  the 
real  clergyman.  Ah!  I  see!  I  know  you,  now, 
you  knave,  you  are  that  rascal  Tupper." 

"All  the  more  reason  why  you  should  be  kept 
where  you  cannot  disclose  the  fact,"  explained 
the  dominie  blandly. 

"Yes,  Sam,  your  interests  and  our  own  both 
require  your  temporary  elimination  from  the 
scene  of  action,"  I  added.  "And  so  we  have  un- 
dertaken this  little  enchantment.  You  really 
should  thank  us.  If  I  had  nothing  else  to  do  I'd 
enjoy  changing  places  with  you." 


234  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

"I  wish  you  would,  for  about  five  minutes ;  I'd 
show  you  a  thing  or  two,"  muttered  Samuel  with 
renewed  ire.  "Oh,  you  wait,  you  silly  jay,  won't 
I  lay  you  out  handsome!" 

"I  understand  you  had  it  all  fixed  for  a  little 
scene  after  the  wedding-service  in  which  I  was 
to  suffer  humiliation.  You  wanted  to  arrange 
the  details,  Sam.  Much  obliged,  but  I  had  other 
views." 

"You  heard ;  you  were  spying  on  us !" 

"You  are  not  much  of  a  conspirator,  Sammy, 
but  we  can't  afford  to  have  you  at  large,  until 
after  the  wedding  is  over,  anyway." 

My  thrust  had  gone  home,  and  Sam  meditated 
in  silence  for  a  moment.  He  had  got  it  through 
his  head,  at  last,  that  there  was  method  in  our  mad 
prank,  and  that  we  meant  business  in  spite  of  our 
jocularity.  Having  reduced  him  to  the  proper 
frame  of  mind  we  thought  it  good  time  to  leave 
him.  I  asked  him  if  he  had  any  messages  for  his 
mother,  or  anything  like  that,  but  receiving  no 
intelligible  reply  Tupper  and  I  left  him  to  rumi- 
nate on  his  sins. 


CAPTIVE  235 

We  walked  back  to  the  garden-gate  and  sat 
down  for  a  quiet  chat.  I  had  secured  permission 
from  Beatrice  to  take  Tupper  fully  into  our  con- 
fidence. I  was  much  impressed  by  the  young 
man's  initiative  in  the  evening's  adventure,  and 
I  had  already  been  convinced  of  his  manliness 
and  genuine  worth  in  spite  of  the  ludicrous  part 
fate  had  compelled  him  to  play.  Besides,  we 
needed  his  help.  I  laid  the  whole  case  before  him 
and  he  reflected  upon  it  for  some  time. 

"That  stolen  manuscript  is  the  key  to  the  whole 
situation,"  he  remarked.  "You  cannot  afford  to 
go  ahead  in  the  dark." 

"That  is  obvious,"  I  returned  somewhat  impa- 
tiently. I  had  said  that  same  thing  over  to  my- 
self at  least  fifty  times,  and  there  I  had  stuck. 

"Let  us  reason  it  out,"  he  said.  "When  did 
you  last  see  it?" 

"Sam  Sears  was  with  me  in  my  room,  just  be- 
fore we  went  down  to  dinner.  My  grip  was 
open  and  it  was  lying  in  it.  That  is  the  last  I 
saw  of  it." 

"What  time  was  that?" 


236  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

"About  seven  o'clock.  They  served  dinner 
promptly  at  seven." 

"What  time  was  it  when  you  first  missed  it?" 

"It  was  about  half  past  nine  when  I  returned 
to  my  room  and  found  it  gone." 

"When  you  went  walking  with  the  bishop 
where  were  Sears  and  Fielding?" 

"They  were  on  the  veranda  with  all  the  rest 
of  the  family." 

"I  have  had  a  young  man  watch  the  place  for 
me  and  report  all  who  enter  or  leave  it.  That  is 
how  I  learned  of  the  bishop's  arrival  this  after- 
noon. Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gosse,  Sears  and  Fielding 
went  for  a  drive  at  quarter  of  eight.  They  had 
just  returned  when  I  left  the  hotel  at  nine 
o'clock." 

I  whistled.  The  dominie  had  thrown  a  new 
light  on  the  case.  I  told  him  that  we  had  left  the 
dinner-table  shortly  before  eight.  The  actor  had 
gone  out  on  the  veranda  with  us.  I  remembered 
that  distinctly,  and  the  drive  was  arranged  almost 
immediately  afterwards.  Sears  and  Fielding  had 
come  into  the  garden  directly  upon  their  return, 


CAPTIVE  237 

after,  learning  from  the  gardener  that  Beatrice 
Apthorpe  was  to  be  found  there. 

"That  eliminates  both  Sears  and  Fielding," 
concluded  the  logical  theologian,  after  we  had 
thus  compared  notes.  "They  had  no  opportunity 
to  take  it  from  the  time  it  was  last  seen  to  the 
time  it  was  first  missed.  There  seems  but  one 
other  possible  explanation.  One  of  the  servants 
may  have  taken  it." 

"Not  likely." 

"Nevertheless,  it  would  be  well  to  have  Miss 
Apthorpe  make  careful  but  guarded  inquiries  to- 
morrow morning.  If  we  could  by  any  good  for- 
tune find  that  manuscript  the  desperate  expedient 
of  a  mock  marriage  could  be  avoided." 

That  was  clear  enough,  and  I  began  to  feel 
more  at  ease.  The  clergyman's  review  of  the  situ- 
ation had  demonstrated  that  the  chances  of  Field- 
ing's being  directly  implicated  in  the  theft  were 
small. 

Having  arrived  at  this  conclusion  we  proceeded 
to  lay  our  plans  for  the  morrow.  I  considered 
it  important  to  have  Tupper  on  the  ground  ready 


238  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

to  step  forward  in  any  emergency  that  might 
arise.  I  could  think  of  no  place  in  which  to  con- 
ceal him  more  secure  than  my  own  room. 

It  would  be  hopeless  to  attempt  to  smuggle 
him  into  the  Apthorpe  residence  on  the  morrow, 
with  Henry  on  guard  with  his  shot-gun.  At  that 
time  of  night,  however,  there  was  little  danger. 

I  agreed  to  be  up  with  the  sun  and  to  climb  the 
hill  to  visit  our  captive  in  the  hen-coop,  to  look 
after  his  comfort,  give  him  food  and  water,  and 
minister  unto  him  generally.  I  shrank  from  the 
task,  for  I  am  a  literary  man  and  do  not  like  to 
hear  language  used  which  might  get  into  my 
head  and  unconsciously  corrupt  my  style.  We 
all  have  to  make  little  sacrifices  for  others,  how- 
ever. 

So  the  bogus  parson  and  the  genuine  one  stole 
into  the  Apthorpe  residence  like  a  couple  of 
burglars.  We  made  our  way  to  my  room,  where 
we  hastened  to  seek  a  few  hours  of  slumber.  It 
was  a  queer  thing  that  we,  who  had  exchanged 
sleeping-car  berths  the  night  before  and  became 
involved  in  a  curious  chain  of  adventures  in  con- 


CAPTIVE  239 

sequence,  should  pass  the  next  night  as  bedroom 
companions.  We  had  begun  the  day  as  sworn 
enemies.  We  ended  it  as  intimate  friends. 

"There  is  nothing  like  a  vacation  among  these 
beautiful,  restful  Berkshire  Hills  to  regenerate  a 
man,"  I  thought,  as  I  drowsed  off  to  sleep. 

Of  course  it  hadn't  been  as  restful  as  it  might 
have  been,  but  that  wasn't  the  fault  of  the  hills. 
Something  had  occurred  all  the  while,  but  it  was 
a  change,  anyway. 

Certain  it  is  that  I  had  already  felt  the  benefit 
of  it.  Perhaps  it  was  the  pure  air.  Perhaps  also 
it  was  the  inspiring  influence  of  the  young  woman 
who  was  beginning  to  monopolize  my  thoughts. 

"Liking  isn't  computed  by  the  clock;  it  is 
measured  by  heart-throbs,"  was  my  last  conscious 
thought. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A  CORNER  IN  CLOTHES-LINEi 

I  was  awake  with  the  first  glimmer  of  dawn 
and  dressed  with  silent  haste.  It  was  to  be  a  mo- 
mentous day  for  me,  and  I  had  much  to  accom- 
plish before  other  folk  were  astir.  As  I  made 
my  way  cautiously  down  the  hall  I  heard  restless 
footsteps  and  the  murmur  of  low  voices  from  an 
apartment  which  I  took  to  be  that  of  the  Ap- 
thorpes. 

I  was  just  passing  by  the  door  when  I  heard 
Mrs.  Apthorpe  say:  "Are  you  never  going  to  re- 
tire, James?  You  will  worry  yourself  sick.  It  is 
already  daylight  and  neither  of  us  has  slept  a 
wink." 

"God  forgive  me  if  I  am  doing  wrong,"  re- 
turned her  husband.  "My  girl's  face  haunts  me 
whenever  I  try  to  close  my  eyes." 

"Can  nothing  be  done,  even  yet?    Is  there  no 


A  CORNER  IN  CLOTHES-LINE 

help  for  her?  She  detests  the  man  so,"  pleaded 
the  mother. 

"We  have  been  debating  the  matter  all  night," 
sighed  Apthorpe,  "and  we  always  arrive  at  the 
inevitable  conclusion.  Our  duty  is  clear  and 
there  is  but  one  course  open  to  us." 

I  was  about  to  hurry  on  and  leave  them  to 
their  unhappy  vigil,  when  Mrs.  Apthorpe's  next 
remark  arrested  my  attention.  "What  are  you 
going  to  do  about  the  young  clergyman?"  she 
asked. 

"Mr.  Fielding  seems  determined  that  he  shall 
not  be  permitted  to  perform  the  service,"  was  the 
reply.  "He  says  he  has  proof  that  the  bishop 
was  lured  away  by  a  hoax  and  that  his  friend,  Mr. 
Sears,  has  other  damaging  evidence  against  the 
young  man,  which  can  be  produced,  if  neces- 
sary, and  which  renders  it  highly  improper  for 
him  to  officiate." 

I  had  been  suffering  some  pangs  of  conscience 
about  the  way  we  had  treated  Samuel.  They  were 
now  removed,  and  they  have  never  troubled  me 
since.  I  listened  breathlessly  as  Apthorpe  con- 


HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 
tinued:  "I  do  not  enjoy  being  dictated  to  in  this 
way  by  these  underbred  fellows,  and  personally 
I  like  Mr.  Tupper." 

"I  am  glad  of  that,"  said  Mrs.  Apthorpe  (so 
was  I).  "I  think  him  a  very  upright  and  spirit- 
ual young  man.  He  should  not  be  condemned 
unheard." 

"That  was  the  view  I  took  of  it,  and  I  am  glad 
you  agree  with  me.  I  told  Mr.  Fielding  last 
night  that,  unless  Mr.  Sears  had  something  defi- 
nite and  substantial  to  allege,  Mr.  Tupper  would 
officiate,  or  there  would  be  no  wedding  at 
all." 

"It  rejoices  my  heart  to  think  you  were 
so  firm,"  said  his  wife.  "To  my  mind  Mr.  Tup- 
per bears  every  mark  of  being  one  of  the  Lord's 
elect.  They  do  not  like  him  because  he  is  so  much 
above  them,  and  they  wish  to  hurt  and  humiliate 
him,  knowing  they  have  us  in  their  power." 

"The  actor  has  gone  as  far  as  he  dares,"  Ap- 
thorpe replied.  "I  think  that  silly,  mischief -mak- 
ing fellow  he  brought  up  from  New  York  with 


A  CORNER  IN  CLOTHES-LINE          243 
him  is  responsible  for  this  last  piece  of  impu- 
dence." 

"I  wish  they  would  both  go  away  and  never 
cross  our  path  again,  James;  I  am  wretched." 
And  Mrs.  Apthorpe  sobbed. 

"So  am  I,  Emma,  but  I  shall  do  my  duty," 
declared  her  husband. 

I  don't  believe  in  eavesdropping  as  a  general 
practice,  but  here  I  was  surely  justified.  I  did 
not  care  to  hear  more  and  glided  down  the  hall, 
leaving  them  to  their  sorrow.  They  were  doing 
what  they  thought  was  right,  and  making  every 
one  near  and  dear  to  them  wretched,  themselves 
included — which  is  often  the  logical  result  of 
misguided  rectitude. 

It  was  more  evident  than  ever  that  we  had  done 
well  to  place  Samuel  Sears  hors  de  combat.  I 
had  had  a  narrow  escape  owing  to  him,  as  it  was, 
and  would  unquestionably  have  been  dismissed 
in  disgrace  as  persona  non  grata  to  the  bride- 
groom if  it  hadn't  been  for  my  spirituality  and 
general  godliness.  I  seemed  to  feel  a  halo  grow- 


244  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

ing  about  my  head  and  wings  sprouting  from  my 

shoulders. 

However  vengeful  I  might  feel  toward  Mr. 
Sears,  it  was  one  of  the  obligations  of  my  new- 
born saintship  to  forgive  him  and  to  provide  him 
a  breakfast.  To  get  him  one  I  should  have  to 
commit  larceny,  a  course  which  I  think  I  can  de- 
fend theologically.  Anyhow,  I  tiptoed  down  the 
back  stairs  with  Christian  motive  and  burglar- 
ious intent.  My  objective  was  the  Apthorpe 
pantry.  This  I  entered  with  such  stealth  that  I 
almost  stepped  on  a  mouse. 

While  I  was  in  the  burglary  business  I  wanted 
to  do  a  good  job,  so  I  cut  several  slices  of  bread, 
spread  it  neatly  with  butter  and  sliced  a  cold 
tongue  to  supply  several  tempting  sandwiches. 
Then  I  discovered  a  big  custard  pie,  soft  and  well 
frosted.  It  was  such  a  luscious  pie  I  was  con- 
vinced the  cook  intended  it  for  the  village  consta- 
ble, if  there  was  such  an  official  in  Greenford.  I 
hoped  there  wasn't.  I  did  not  care  for  his  per- 
sonal acquaintance  just  then.  At  any  rate  I  was 
sure  the  pie  would  be  to  Sam's  liking,  so  I  took 


A  CORNER  IN  CLOTHES-LINE          245 

it.  Putting  these  eatables  into  a  convenient  bas- 
ket, I  went  for  a  brisk  walk  among  the  hills, 
winding  up  at  the  untenanted  farmhouse. 

We  had  set  a  pole  against  the  rickety  door  of 
the  coop,  and  it  was  well  we  did  so,  for  Sam  had 
certainly  made  progress  during  the  night.  By 
dint  of  worming  and  squirming  he  had  man- 
aged to  work  his  arms  through  the  great  coil  of 
rope  which  enveloped  him,  so  that  his  hands  and 
wrists  stuck  out  on  either  side  of  the  big  ball  of 
hemp  and  feathers,  looking  like  the  flippers  of  a 
white  seal.  He  had  also  managed  to  work  his 
legs  out  so  that  they  projected  half-way  up  to  the 
knees.  By  rocking  himself  back  and  forth,  with 
increasing  momentum,  he  could  now  and  then 
tip  himself  up  on  his  pins,  to  waddle  half  a  step 
and  then  roll  over. 

He  was  engaged  in  this  interesting  acrobatic 
performance,  with  a  skill  and  perseverance  that 
would  have  made  his  fortune  in  a  dime  museum 
as  I  entered  just  in  time  to  view  the  roly-poly 
collapse  which  concluded  the  exhibition. 


246  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

I  clapped  my  hands  and  bade  him  a  cheery 
good  morning. 

"For  God's  sake,  Basil,  let  me  loose.  I'm 
nearly  dead,"  gasped  the  prisoner. 

"Don't  get  impatient,  old  fellow,"  I  returned, 
"there  are  only  a  few  hours  more  of  captivity  be- 
fore you,  and  I  have  brought  you  a  good  break- 
fast." 

"Breakfast?  How  do  you  suppose  I  can  eat 
with  my  mouth,  nose  and  throat  full  of  nasty, 
dusty  feathers?  Oh,  you  will  have  to  suffer  the 
torments  of  hell  before  I  get  even  with  you, 
Basil  Plympton!" 

I  wasn't  to  blame  if  he  persisted  in  training 
for  the  circus  instead  of  lying  quietly  in  the  com- 
fortable corner  where  the  dominie  had  placed  him. 
His  hair  and  beard  were  full  of  feathers  and 
looked  as  if  they  had  turned  white  over  night.  I 
tried  to  clean  some  of  them  off,  but  when  I  en- 
deavored to  work  a  few  out  of  his  nostrils  he 
snapped  at  me  like  a  cross  dog.  "Let  me  alone," 
he  snarled,  "you  will  have  to  let  me  out  sooner  or 
later,  and  when  you  do  I'll  half  murder  you.  I'll 


A  CORNER  IN  CLOTHES-LINE  247 
thrash  you  within  an  inch  of  your  life,  and  then 
I'll  sue  you  for  abduction,  assault,  battery  and 
false  imprisonment." 

"Why  not  throw  in  libel,  slander  and  seduc- 
tion?5' I  suggested.  But  I  saw  it  was  useless  to 
endeavour  to  mollify  him,  so  gave  it  up  and  made 
an  honest  effort  to  feed  him  the  sandwiches.  He 
ate  a  little,  though  mainly  for  the  purpose  of 
biting  my  fingers.  He  caught  me  twice,  and  the 
second  time  nearly  took  my  fore-finger  off  at  the 
first  joint.  That  is  the  kind  of  return  one  is  apt 
to  get  for  trying  to  help  the  afflicted.  I  wasn't 
obliged  to  bring  him  food.  I  could  just  have  left 
him  alone  until  afternoon  and  then  sent  Henry 
up  to  liberate  him,  while  I  started  for  parts  un- 
known. 

But  I  wasn't  going  to  stop  trying  to  do  him 
good  just  because  he  was  mean  and  revengeful. 
I  had  learned  a  thing  or  two  while  I  had  been 
in  the  ministry.  There  are  ways  of  making  the 
wicked  see  the  light  by  kindness  and  charity  and 
moral  suasion. 

As  I  did  not  wish  to  lose  any  more  fingers  I 


248  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

tried  a  new  way  of  feeding  him  the  pie.  I  set  it 
down  upon  the  floor  of  the  hen-coop  and  took 
Sam  by  his  equator.  I  tipped  up  his  south  pole 
and  dipped  his  north  pole  well  into  the  middle 
of  the  pie. 

I  hope  he  imbibed  some  of  it.  I  am  sure  I 
wanted  him  to  have  plenty.  If  his  whole  north 
pole  was  abundantly  plastered  with  bright  yellow 
custard  and  nice  white  frosting  I  was  not  to 
blame.  There  was  more  custard  in  that  pie  than 
I  ever  saw  in  one  of  the  sort  before  or  since.  It 
was  deep,  soft  and  abundant  beyond  measure. 

Having  given  the  captive  his  breakfast  I  drew 
water  from  the  well  in  an  old  oaken  bucket  and 
gave  him  to  drink.  He  took  down  about  a  gal- 
lon. I  never  saw  a  man  so  thirsty.  Dust,  feath- 
ers and  oratory  are  apt  to  make  one  dry,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  pie  he  had  taken,  inside  and  out. 
The  difficulty  was  I  couldn't  see  how  there  was 
room  for  all  that  water  inside  that  coil  of  rope. 

I  was  sorry  for  him,  but  he  was  too  smart  to 
be  fooled  and  too  dangerous  to  be  left  at  large 
just  then.  Led  astray  by  a  clergyman,  I  had 


A  CORNER  IN  CLOTHES-LINE  249 
reluctantly  consented  to  his  temporary  captivity ; 
but  I  was  good  to  him  and  gave  him  all  the  pie 
and  water  he  wanted.  He  claimed  afterwards 
that  I  made  a  mistake  about  that  pie  and  just 
mopped  him  around  in  it  without  giving  him  a 
chance  to  swallow  any.  I  am  real  sorry.  It  was 
due  to  my  total  inexperience  in  handling  an  un- 
tamed spheroid  that  bites  one's  fingers. 

As  I  couldn't  do  him  any  more  good  I  left  him, 
to  resume  my  stroll  over  the  hills. 

Sam  remained  in  the  hen-coop  practicing  to 
become  an  acrobat  until  nearly  noon,  when  he  was 
liberated  through  a  peculiar  combination  of  cir- 
cumstances that  was  entirely  out  of  my  reckon- 
ing. All  this  I  myself  didn't  learn  until  later. 
But  I'll  satisfy  the  suspense  of  the  reader,  and 
tell  him  here. 

If  I  had  only  known  that  the  young  parson  had 
spent  all  Sunday  afternoon  appropriating  all  the 
visible  clothes-line  in  the  village  of  Greenford,  I 
should  have  surmised  that  there  would  be  a  cor- 
ner in  clothes-line  Monday  morning  in  that  en- 
terprising town  where  all  the  villagers  do  up  their 


250  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

own  laundry.  As  it  had  not  occurred  to  me  to 
ask  the  parson  where  or  how  he  had  obtained  the 
rope  I  did  not  dream  what  a  hornets'-nest  he  was 
going  to  stir  up.  When  a  clergyman  once  sets 
out  to  be  a  genuine,  all-around  desperado,  he  is 
apt  to  stop  at  nothing. 

When  Mrs.  Smith  started  in  to  wash  that 
morning  she  discovered  that  her  clothes-line  had 
mysteriously  vanished,  and  sent  her  husband 
around  to  Mrs.  Jones  to  borrow  a  few  yards. 
Then  Mrs.  Jones  found  that  her  line  had  gone 
also,  and  Jones  and  Smith  set  out  in  quest  of 
Robinson  to  see  if  he  had  any  clothes-line;  but 
the  parson  had  been  around  to  the  Robinsons'. 
In  point  of  fact,  he  had  gathered  all  the  rope  in 
the  neighbourhood,  hence  the  throng  of  irate  farm- 
ers and  indignant  housewives  that  assembled. 

.  One  enterprising  laundress  thought  that  she 
might  find  a  line  around  the  premises  of  the  de- 
serted James  house.  On  making  search  she  found 
Samuel  Sears  with  all  the  clothes-line  of  the 
entire  village  in  his  possession  or  adjacent.  She 
hailed  the  mob,  and  the  indignant  villagers  rolled 


A  CORNER  IN  CLOTHES-LINE  251 
Sam  out.  Then  they  unwound  him.  It  was  a 
long  job,  as  they  stopped  to  identify  each  coil 
and  find  its  proper  owner  before  they  unwound 
the  next.  Finally  they  unrolled  the  last  cord 
and  Sam  was  free,  but  still  very  feathery  and 
furiously  angry.  I  shall  always  believe  those 
feathers  went  to  his  brain,  for  he  acted  queer  and 
light-headed  for  some  time  thereafter,  as  you'll 
see. 

I  do  not  know  how  he  explained  it  to  the 
farmers.  They  were  inclined  to  make  him  out  a 
thief  at  first,  and  as  there  was  tar  handy  and  the 
feathers  were  already  laid  on  thick  he  might  have 
had  further  unpleasant  experiences. 

Anyway,  he  was  clever  enough  to  convince 
them  that  he  was  not  the  guilty  party,  though  the 
stolen  property  was  found  upon  his  person,  and 
they  were  finally  persuaded  to  let  him  go. 

As  soon  as  he  was  free  to  depart,  Sam  started 
in  to  make  trouble  for  me.  But  that  came  later. 
Just  now  my  lines  were  set  in  pleasant  places, 
and  fairer  prospects  beckoned. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

LOVE  AMONG  THE  ROSES 

It  was  still  very  early  morning,  and  th?  sun's 
long  beams  quivered  in  the  crisply  cool  air. 
I  needed  solitude  and  time  to  think — breathing 
space  in  which  to  reflect  upon  one  of  the  greatest 
problems  of  my  life.  As  Stevenson's  Doctor 
Desprez  has  said,  there  is  no  time  for  making 
theories  like  the  early  morning.  Of  all  the 
strange  things  that  had  happened  to  me  in  the 
course  of  twenty-four  short  hours,  the  most  wild 
and  wonderful  was  the  fact  that  I  had  fallen 
deeply  in  love  with  Beatrice  Apthorpe;  and  yet 
I  had  scarcely  had  a  chance  even  to  think  about 
it. 

One  cannot  reason  much  concerning  such 
things.  They  are  a  part  of  the  daily  recurring  mir- 
acle of  human  existence.  But  there  was  much 
to  be  considered  when  the  one  great  fact  of  my 


LOVE  AMONG  THE  ROSES  253 

love  was  established  and  recognized.  She  was  the 
affianced  bride  of  another  man,  though  she  de- 
tested him  and  did  not  wish  to  wed  him.  The 
question  was,  were  my  lips  sealed,  or  had  I  the 
right — and  was  it  my  duty — to  speak?  Should 
I  wait  until  time  had  proved  the  quality  of  this 
new  emotion,  or  should  I  acknowledge  it  at  once 
for  what  I  knew  it  to  be — a  thing  of  life,  death, 
fate  and  eternity ;  and  seize  upon  the  golden  op- 
portunity while  it  presented  itself? 

These  were  the  questions  I  was  debating  within 
myself  as  I  sauntered  down  the  road  and  entered 
the  gardens  of  Burgmoor.  The  trouble  was  that 
all  ordinary  standards  of  honour  and  conventional 
rules  of  propriety  were  set  at  naught  by  the  ex- 
traordinary and  unusual  situation  in  which  I 
found  myself.  So  I  concluded  to  drift  along 
under  the  guidance  of  my  lucky  star,  and  place 
myself  unreservedly  in  the  hands  of  destiny,  as 
I  wandered  along  the  winding  garden  paths, 
humming  the  song  of  the  Scotch  plough-boy, 
dear  to  all  lovers: 


254  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

"My  love  is  like  a  red}  red  rose, 

That's  newly  sprung  in  June: 
My  love  is  like  the  melody 

That's  sweetly  played  in  tune. 
As  fair  art  thou,  my  bonny  lass, 

So  deep  in  love  am  1, 
And  I  will  love  thee  still,  my  dear, 

Till  a  the  seas  gang  dry" 

Just  then  I  caught  sight  of  Beatrice  wandering 
along  a  garden  path.  "There  she  comes  with 
romance  on  her  young  eyelashes,"  I  thought,  my 
heart  aglow  with  anticipation.  We  met.  She 
seemed  as  sweet  as  the  dewy  morn  itself,  and  as 
rosy.  Now  that  there  was  some  hope  of  escaping 
from  her  false  position  and  the  unpleasant  al- 
liance, some  of  the  tense  alertness  seemed  to  be 
softened  out  of  her  face  and  she  appeared  more 
tender  and  more  girlish.  Was  it  this ;  or  was  it 
something  within  me  that  acquired  higher  per- 
ceptions as  it  matured?  Both,  probably.  Any- 
way, the  world  seemed  to  be  a  mighty  fine  place 
to  be  in,  just  then,  as  we  walked  in  the  sunshine 


LOVE  AMONG  THE  ROSES  255 

among  the  flowers.  I  like  to  remember  that  morn- 
ing. 

A  crisis  was  impending.  Our  fate  hung  in  the 
balance  by  a  very  slender  thread.  To  be  sure,  it 
always  does  that ;  but  our  threads  were  slenderer 
that  day  than  they  had  ever  been  before! 

She  looked  at  me  shyly,  as  I  took  her  hand 
and  pressed  it.  "Where  have  you  been?"  she 
asked.  "I  was  worried  about  things  and  thought 
I  might  find  you  here." 

I  told  her  about  Samuel  Sears  and  explained 
that  he  would  have  to  be  liberated,  if  Tupper 
and  I  happened  to  be  arrested  or  driven  out  of 
town,  or  anything,  before  the  day  was  over — a 
result  not  at  all  improbable,  all  things  considered. 

She  looked  very  grave,  but  I  assured  her  that 
the  deed  had  been  necessary  to  the  success  of  our 
plans,  as  Sam  had  warned  me  he  would  not  per- 
mit me  to  conduct  the  ceremony.  As  it  was,  he 
might  have  said  enough  already  to  do  the  mis- 
chief ;  and  we  couldn't  afford  to  have  him  at  large. 

"I  am  afraid  he  will  murder  you,  or  do  some- 
thing dreadful,"  she  said. 


256  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

"Oh,  don't  waste  any  thoughts  on  him;  they 
are  too  precious,"  I  protested. 

"Don't,"  she  cried,  "that  sort  of  thing  reminds 
me  of  Jam." 

"I  am  duly  abashed ;  but  may  I  never  say  any- 
thing sentimental?" 

"I  have  had  enough  of  it  to  last  me  all  the 
rest  of  my  life.  What  were  you  singing  when  I 
met  you;  something  about  a  lady  and  a  rose?" 

"About  my  lady  and  my  rose.  You  must  know 
who  she  is  and  that  I  am  all  hers." 

"Tell  me  about  her,"  commanded  the  young 
lady  demurely,  but  blushing  radiantly. 

We  had  reached  the  grape-arbor  and  had  seat- 
ed ourselves  on  the  rustic  bench  once  more.  "I 
am  quite  unworthy  of  her,"  I  whispered,  "and 
she  is  altogether  out  of  my  reach,  though  not  be- 
yond my  love." 

"And  why,  sir?" 

"Can't  you  see;  can't  you  guess?" 

"Has  she  friends,  parents,  wealth,  refined  sur- 
roundings, natural  guardians  and  protectors, 
everything  that  should  keep  her  from  harm  and 


LOVE  AMONG  THE  ROSES  257 

shield  her  from  misfortune?  Have  all  these 
failed  her  in  her  hour  of  need?  Is  her  sole  re- 
liance upon  your  ability  and  devotion,  and  faith?" 
And  she  looked  up  into  my  eyes  with  such 
trust  and  affection  I  believed  my  love  to  be  re- 
turned. I  took  her  little  warm  hand  and  kissed 
it,  then  clasped  it  against  my  heart. 

And  thereupon  an  odd  thing  happened  which 
brought  me  down  from  my  seventh  heaven  of 
bliss  with  a  dull,  cold  thud.  She  snatched  her 
hand  away  almost  rudely  and  looked  at  me  with 
a  most  peculiar  expression  of  suspicion  and  pique. 
I  could  not  understand  it.  What  had  happened? 

"Have  I  offended  you?"  I  asked. 

"Oh,  not  at  all.  It  isn't  what  you  might  think 
in  the  least.  I  was  glad  to  let  you  hold  my  hand. 
It  isn't  that.  You  will  never  understand  and  I 
can  never  explain;  but  how,  oh,  how  can  I  ever 
trust  you  now!"  And  there  were  tears  gathering 
in  her  eyes. 

Was  I  demented;  or  was  she  suffering  from 
nervous  prostration? 

"What  is  it?"  I  cried  dumfounded.    "How  can 


258  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

I  have  offended  you,  when  I  love  you  so  deeply, 
and  was  trying  to  make  you  understand  it?  In 
the  name  of  all  that  is  good  and  true,  what  is 
this  horrid  thing  that  has  come  between  us?" 

"I  suppose  I  am  foolish,"  she  faltered,  "but  it, 
it — it  felt  like  a  photograph!" 

I  gave  a  sigh  of  immense  relief.  When  a  man 
presses  a  girl's  hand  to  his  heart  he  ought  to 
make  sure  there  are  no  compromising  things  in 
his  left  breast  pocket.  If  she  happens  to  feel 
pasteboard  instead  of  a  palpitating  organ  it  is 
apt  to  disappoint  her  and  arouse  her  suspicion. 
"It  was  a  photograph,"  I  admitted. 

"And  one  that  you  cherish  so  sentimentally, 
while  you  are  saying  such  things  to  me  ?  That  is 
just  what  I  thought!  Oh,  are  all  men  Eke  that? 
Shall  I  never  meet  one  who  is  faithful  and  true?" 

Well,  I  produced  the  picture.  It  was  her  own 
miniature,  which,  it  will  be  remembered,  I  had 
purloined  the  morning  previous. 

"Oh!"  she  said.  That  was  about  all  she  could 
say — very  well. 

"I  admit  I  did  wrong,"  I  sighed,  "but  I  was  so 


LOVE  AMONG  THE  ROSES  259 

taken  with  it  that  I  couldn't  resist  the  tempta- 
tion." 

But  she  had  been  ruffled,  and  was  still  rather 
coy.  "It  seems  like  a  presumption,  doesn't  it?" 
she  demanded. 

"It  was  a  presumption,"  I  admitted,  "but  I 
am  a  very  presuming  fellow,  or  I  wouldn't 
be  here  at  all."  Then  I  kissed  the  miniature  and 
offered  to  return  it. 

She  pushed  it  away  shyly.  "I  thought  you 
had  better  taste  than  that,"  she  said. 

"Better  taste?  How,  how — what  do  you 
mean?"  I  stammered. 

"Oh,  never  mind,"  she  protested,  blushing 
prettily,  "keep  the  picture,  if  you  like." 

I  saw  that  somehow  I  had  blundered  once 
more.  She  was  beginning  to  be  mollified,  until 
I  kissed  the  picture;  that  seemed  to  ruffle  her 
again.  She  thought  I  should  have  better  taste. 
Then  our  eyes  met  and  in  the  depths  of  hers  I 
saw  a  glow.  My  heart  beat  wildly  as  I  bent 
over  her  face  and  kissed  it,  murmuring  involun- 
tarily, "I  love  you." 


260  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

We  were  hedged  in  on  all  sides  by  the  dark 
green  grape-leaves  and  bright  red  roses,  as  I  did 
it.  How  could  I  help  it?  Yet  I  wasn't  as  bold 
as  I  might  have  been  for  I  was  oppressed  by  the 
thought  of  all  the  fine  and  virtuous  resolutions 
I  was  breaking,  for  I  had  not  intended  to  do  any- 
thing like  that  until  Harry  Fielding  was  finally 
disposed  of.  And  yet  I  knew  she  returned  my 
love,  though  she  wouldn't  say  so,  covering  her 
emotion  with  baffling  coquetry. 

"You  evidently  haven't  kissed  many  girls," 
she  laughed,  as  red  as  the  roses.  "You  are  terri- 
bly unsophisticated.  I  like  that ;  but  still,  a  man 
of  your  knowledge  of  the  world  should  be  in  bet- 
ter practice." 

I  tried  it  once  more,  my  heart  thumping 
against  my  side  as  if  trying  to  break  through. 
Yet  I  only  touched  her  flushing  cheek  gently 
with  my  lips,  both  times.  It  seemed  a  sort  of 
sacrilege,  somehow,  such  was  my  regard  for  her. 
I  had  lost  all  my  assurance  because  my  very  soul 
was  filled  with  tenderness.  She  was  right, 
though;  I  didn't  know  how  the  thing  should  be 


LOVE  AMONG  THE  ROSES  261 

done.    No  man  does  until  a  woman  shows  him 
how. 

"I  am  sure  of  it,"  she  whispered.  "You  have 
never  kissed  a  girl  before!" 

I  was  on  dangerous  ground  again.  To  admit 
the  allegation  was  folly,  to  deny  it  was  embar- 
rassing. I  did  not  like  to  be  thought  so  ama- 
teurish, so  I  said:  "Oh,  yes,  I  have,  lots  of  times." 

"Then  you  shall  never  kiss  me  again,  sir. 
When — when  was  it?" 

"Oh,  long  ago,  in  the  country;  playing  post- 
office,  you  know,  and  things  like  that." 

"Oh,  I  thought  so.  Why,  you  dropped  a  kiss 
on  my  cheek  almost  as  though  it  were  a  letter- 
box." 

That  is  how  she  bewitched  me,  drove  my  scru-  , 
pies  to  the  winds,  and  taught  me  the  divine  poetry 
of  love.  How  roguish  she  looked,  the  very  in- 
carnation of  tender  mischief!  The  tenderness 
grew  and  the  mischief  gradually  vanished,  as 
I  took  her  in  my  arms  and  pressed  my  lips  to 
hers,  whereupon  she  whispered  in  my  ear  so 
faintly  I  could  hardly  hear  it:  "I  love  you,  too." 


HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

After  a  little  we  began  to  talk  about  the  future. 
A  good  deal  for  both  of  us  depended  upon  the 
events  of  the  next  few  hours.  She  was  worried 
about  that  mock  marriage.  She  said  it  would 
not  do  for  me  to  appear  such  a  novice  at  that  as 
I  had  at  certain  other  things.  At  the  very  moment 
of  triumph  some  awkward  blunder  on  my  part 
might  arouse  suspicion  and  spoil  everything.  She 
had  dreamed  about  it,  and  when  she  awoke  she 
felt  worried.  That  was  why  she  had  risen  so  early 
to  meet  me  in  the  garden.  That  was  absolutely 
the  only  reason,  she  assured  me. 

I  was  a  little  shaky  about  that  wedding-service 
myself.  I  admitted  it  frankly.  It  wasn't  at  all 
in  my  line.  I'd  rather  preach  half  a  dozen  ser- 
mons. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "practice  makes  perfect,  as 
you  know.  (No,  no,  I  didn't  mean  anything  like 
that.)  Could  we  have  a  dress-rehearsal?" 

"Splendid,  if  it  could  be  managed." 

"That  will  be  easy  enough,"  she  declared. 
"When  you  and  Mr.  Tupper  are  ready  for  it, 
knock  on  my  door.  I  will  have  Mary  and  Ellen 


LOVE  AMONG  THE  ROSES  263 

in  my  room  with  me  —  the  maids,  you  know,  to 
act  as  witnesses." 

"They  are  in  the  secret?  Is  it  wise  to  trust  the 
servants  in  such  an  affair?" 

"Oh,  no,  they  know  nothing  as  yet.  But  they 
love  me  devotedly,  and  will  do  anything  I  ask 
without  question." 

"Well,  what  do  you  propose  to  do  then?" 

"Then  you  must  remove  the  dresser,  and  we'll 
open  the  door  and  come  in.  Mr.  Tupper  will 
show  you  how  everything  is  to  be  done  and  act 
the  part  of  bridegroom." 

"I  do  not  like  that." 

"Silly!     You  don't  suppose  I  would  marry 


"With  all  the  people  you  are  going  to  practice 
on  you  might  throw  me  in.  Couldn't  I  make  one 
of  a  job  lot  of  husbands?" 

"Never.  I  could  not  marry  you  and  have  any 
pretense  about  it.  (Will  you  never  stop?)" 

As  I  left  the  garden  I  felt  as  if  I  were  walking 
on  air. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  VOICE  OF  AUTHORITY 

I  returned  to  my  room  and  aroused  Tupper. 
As  soon  as  he  was  dressed  he  hunted  up  a  pad 
of  blank  marriage-certificates  from  the  recesses 
of  his  grip,  and  explained  the  simple  details  of 
filling  them  out.  He  was  charmed  with  the 
notion  of  a  dress-rehearsal;  in  fact,  delighted 
with  everything,  now  that  he  was  on  the  inside 
and  a  main  factor  in  the  game. 

I  could  see  from  the  way  he  spoke  that  he  also 
was  badly  smitten  with  Beatrice,  and  that  the 
lingering  hope  of  winning  her  had  drawn  him  to 
Greenford  in  spite  of  himself  and  of  her  letter. 
That  cleared  up  the  one  serious  blemish  I  had 
found  in  him ;  and  though  we  were  rivals  we  had 
also  become  fast  friends. 

By  half  past  eight  we  had  set  our  room  to 
rights  and  made  ourselves  presentable.  Then, 


THE  VOICE  OF  AUTHORITY  265 

as  agreed,  we  rapped  on  the  door  of  the  adjoin- 
ing room,  occupied  by  Beatrice,  and  removed  the 
dresser.  There  was  a  flutter  in  the  next  room 
and  then  Beatrice  entered  attired  in  a  traveling- 
dress.  The  bare  sight  of  that  gown  and  the 
thought  of  the  journey  that  it  portended  made 
me  sick  at  heart. 

If  our  plot  failed  she  would  be  the  victim  of 
Fielding  or  an  outcast  from  her  home  by  the  fiat 
of  her  sternly  blind  parents,  with  all  the  infamy 
of  the  scandal  bearing  her  down.  The  terror  of 
her  possible  fate  pressed  upon  me  for  the  first 
time.  As  I  grew  to  love  her  more  dearly,  as  I 
came  more  closely  in  touch  with  her  sorrow,  I 
saw  the  abyss  that  yawned  between  us  with 
clearer  eyes. 

All  the  plans  that  we  had  concocted  to  thwart 
the  designs  of  the  cunning  villain  who  was  about 
to  become  her  husband  seemed  puerile  in  com- 
parison with  the  danger  that  threatened. 

Of  course  Beatrice  could  refuse  at  the  last 
moment  to  do  her  father's  bidding.  Of  course 
she  could  leave  the  paternal  roof  and  face  the 


266  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

world  and  the  ever-pointed  finger  of  ignominy. 
That  is  easy  to  say  in  print,  and  other  girls  have 
done  it,  but  they  seldom  lead  happy  lives,  and 
few  young  ladies  of  gentle  and  wealthy  upbring- 
ing have  the  courage  or  the  hardihood  to  endure 
it. 

I  feared  that  nothing  I  could  do  would  shield 
her  effectually.  It  was  all  well  enough  for  me 
to  kiss  her  in  the  garden  and  whisper  words  of 
tender  love  in  her  ear.  But  to  give  a  girl  like 
Beatrice  the  comforts  and  luxuries  to  which  she 
was  accustomed,  even  if  she  would  marry  me 
under  such  circumstances,  would  be  a  difficult 
undertaking  with  a  powerful  family  like  hers 
frowning  upon  me. 

No,  unless  something  intervened,  unless  our 
hoax,  bizarre  as  was  the  scheme,  should  succeed, 
there  was  small  hope.  It  certainly  seemed 
probable  that  Beatrice  would  be  the  bride  of 
Harry  Fielding  within  a  few  short  hours,  unless 
he  was  tricked  out  of  it,  and  he  was  not  the  man 
to  be  fooled  easily  with  the  warnings  he  had  had 
and  with  so  much  at  stake. 


THE  VOICE  OF  AUTHORITY  267 

When  she  came  in,  followed  by  her  two  maids, 
we  were  all  very  solemn.  I  think  that  we  felt 
that  the  critical  moment  was  uncomfortably  near 
and  that  we  were,  after  all,  but  ill  prepared  to 
meet  it. 

Just  as  I  took  up  the  book  and  was  about  to 
begin  reading  the  marriage-service,  while  Beat- 
rice and  Tupper  stood  hand  in  hand  before  me, 
with  the  two  maids  giggling  in  the  background, 
there  was  a  sharp  rap  on  the  door  of  my  bedroom. 
Fortunately  I  had  not  begun  to  read  the  service. 
As  it  turned  out  it  was  more  fortunate  still  that 
I  didn't  complete  it. 

We  looked  at  one  another  in  dismay,  then  Tup- 
per and  the  maids  stole  silently  after  Beatrice 
into  her  room.  I  closed  the  door  after  them  soft- 
ly, slid  the  dresser  into  its  place  against  it,  and 
breathed  more  easily. 

All  this  had  taken  time  and  meanwhile  my 
visitor  knocked  again.  Then  I  let  him  in.  It 
was  Harry  Fielding. 

I  started  guiltily  as  my  eye  met  his,  but  he  did 
not  seem  to  notice  my  embarrassment.  He  had 


268  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

been  told  by  Sam  Sears  that  I  had  a  shifty  way 
about  me,  and  now  was  doubtless  convinced  of  it. 

"Good  morning,"  he  said  pleasantly,  "pardon 
my  disturbing  you,  but  a  telegram  addressed  to 
you  has  just  arrived  from  Boston.  It  was  so 
bulky  and  the  tariff  so  high  I  thought  I  would 
consult  you  before  paying  for  it.  The  boy  wants 
three  dollars  and  seventy-five  cents." 

He  looked  at  me  curiously.  I  knew  he  was 
wondering  what  business  a  young  parson  could 
have  that  necessitated  the  luxury  of  such 
extended  messages  over  the  wires.  I  did  my  best 
to  satisfy  him. 

"I  am  much  obliged,"  I  said.  "My  family 
have  some  important  real  estate  transactions  in 
Boston,  and  are  probably  consulting  me  in  a 
matter  of  such  financial  importance  that  cost  is 
no  objection."  The  explanation  was  lame 
enough,  but  it  served  the  purpose. 

I  went  down  with  him,  paid  the  messenger,  and 
took  the  precious  envelope  in  my  hands.  That 
was  one  of  those  slender  threads  of  chance  that 
sway  our  lives.  Fielding  was  curious  and  sus- 


THE  VOICE  OF  AUTHORITY  269 

picious,  and  thought  that  there  was  something 
wrong  about  me.  He  lacked  all  scruple,  yet 
apparently  it  had  never  entered  his  head  to  pay 
for  the  telegram,  open  it  and  read  it.  Even  a 
clever  rascal  will  blunder  occasionally,  and  be 
both  less  rascally  and  less  clever  than  the  occasion 
demands. 

"Have  you  seen  anything  of.  my  friend,  Mr. 
Sears?"  asked  the  actor.  "He  seems  to  have 
mysteriously  disappeared.  I  went  to  his  room, 
but  his  bed  has  not  been  disturbed;  no  one  has 
seen  him  since  he  retired  last  evening." 

"Strange,"  I  said.  "Isn't  he  one  of  those 
newspaper  fellows?" 

Fielding  eyed  me  narrowly  with  those  fierce 
black  eyes  of  his.  "Why  do  you  say  that?"  he, 
asked. 

"Oh,  I  have  occasionally  seen  him  at  public 
gatherings  among  the  representatives  of  the 
press.  I  did  not  say  anything  about  it  yesterday 
for  fear  it  might  offend  you  and  disturb  the  Ap- 
thorpes." 

"That  was  clever  of  you,"  smiled  the  rascal, 


370  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

showing  his  white  teeth.  "These  good  people  are 
all  right,  but  they  are  a  little  peculiar  in  such 
matters." 

"So  I  judged." 

"You  seem  a  good  sort,  though  my  friend  inti- 
mated that  I  would  do  well  to  keep  an  eye  on 
you.  These  newspaper  chaps  have  queer  fancies 
and  are  apt  to  see  a  mare's  nest  in  everything." 

"It's  their  trade,  you  know,"  I  commented.  I 
was  glad  he  had  such  a  poor  opinion  of  the  acu- 
men of  my  craft.  I  was  also  rejoiced  to  think  I 
had  given  Samuel  all  the  pie  he  wanted. 

"I  want  to  ask  you  a  rather  delicate  question," 
said  the  actor,  hesitating  and  looking  somewhat 
embarrassed.  He  evidently  felt  the  necessity  of 
sounding  me.  Sears  had  failed  him,  and  he  could 
not  persist  in  his  refusal  to  accept  me  as  the 
officiating  clergyman  without  a  disagreeable  fuss 
with  the  Apthorpes  and  perhaps  a  delay  that 
would  be  fatal  to  his  hopes. 

"You  can  rely  on  me  entirely,"  I  was  diplo- 
matic enough  to  assure  him. 

"You   must   have   noticed,   then,"   he   found 


THE  VOICE  OF  AUTHORITY  271 

courage  to  say,  "that  there  is  some  slight  es- 
trangement between  myself,  and — and  the  young 
lady  up-stairs.  It  is  but  a  child's  whim,  how- 
ever. Has  she  said  anything  to  you  about  it?" 

"She  has  intimated  that  she  is  not  very  eager 
about  the  marriage,  but  that  her  parents  have  in- 
sisted that  she  must  keep  faith.  I  tried  to  per- 
suade her  that  it  was  too  late  to  withdraw  now; 
that  no  good  could  come  of  it  in  the  end."  I  had 
to  make  myself  solid  with  Fielding  at  the  cost 
of  verisimilitude. 

"That's  right,"  he  returned  heartily.  "I  see 
you  understand  what  you  were  sent  for  and  what 
you  are  expected  to  do.  Do  the  right  thing,  and 
I  will  take  care  of  you  in  a  substantial  fashion." 

I  bowed  submissively  and  said:  "I  know  on 
which  side  my  bread  is  buttered.  I  have  already 
been  very  generously  treated." 

Perhaps  I  overdid  it  a  little.  It  may  be  that 
he  caught  the  gleam  in  my  eye  before  I  brought 
myself  to  this  apparently  meek  submission.  I 
thought  he  eyed  me  rather  suspiciously  as  I 
turned  and  went  back  to  my  room. 


272  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

It  was  too  late  now  for  any  dress-rehearsal  be- 
fore breakfast,  but  I  moved  the  dresser  once  more 
and  summoned  Tupper  and  Beatrice  to  a  council 
of  war. 

They  were  a  badly  scared  lot.  Fielding's  sud- 
den appearance  had  led  them  to  believe  his  com- 
ing premeditated,  and  they  had  listened  fearfully 
for  the  expected  uproar  below  when  I  went  down 
with  him. 

I  told  them  not  to  worry,  that  all  was  going 
well,  which  hardly  accorded  with  my  real  opinion. 
Then  I  informed  them  that  I  had  just  received  a 
telegram  from  Boston  lawyers  of  high  repute, 
giving  advice  on  the  subject  of  mock  marriages. 

I  opened  and  read  the  momentous  missive 
while  they  listened  with  breathless  attention.  It 
ran  as  follows: 

Boston,  July  16, 1908. 

"Rev.  Charles  W.  Tupper, 

Burgmoor,  Greenford,  Mass. 
"Replying  to  your  inquiry:     Chapter  781, 

L.   1897,   State  of  Massachusetts,   reads   as 

follows : 


THE  VOICE  OF  AUTHORITY  273 

"Section  I. — All  duly  ordained  clergymen 
of  every  Christian  denomination,  all  rabbis  of 
synagogues,  all  justices  of  the  peace,  selectmen 
of  towns,  or  any  member  of  a  body  clothed  by 
law  with  legislative  powers,  and  all  executive 
officials  of  the  state,  may  solemnize  marriages 
within  this  state. 

"Section  II. — Any  marriage  performed  by 
any  person  not  herein  authorized,  shall,  on 
and  after  the  passage  of  this  act,  be  valid  and 
binding  upon  the  contracting  parties,  but  such 
unauthorized  person  shall  be  guilty  of  a  felony 
and  subject  to  fine  and  imprisonment. 

"Section  III. — Nothing  contained  in  the 
last  section  shall  be  made  the  foundation  for 
any  prosecution  for  bigamy.  If  one  or  both 
of  said  contracting  parties  are,  at  the  time  of 
said  marriage  by  said  unauthorized  person, 
already  married  and  have  a  lawful  husband  or 
wife  still  living,  then,  and  in  that  event,  said 
section  shall  be  of  no  force  or  effect  whatever. 

"Section  IV. — This  act  shall  take  effect  im- 
mediately." 


274  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

While  I  read  these  formal  words,  Beatrice 
stood  with  puckered  brow,  endeavoring  to  com- 
prehend the  legal  phraseology.  Its  intent  was 
clear  enough,  however,  and  none  of  us  could  fail 
to  understand  it. 

"What  does  it  all  mean,"  she  asked,  though  her 
pale  face  showed  that  she  must  know. 

"For  one  thing,"  I  replied,  "it  means  that  if  I 
had  conducted  that  dress-rehearsal  we  started 
when  Mr.  Fielding  interrupted  us,  you  would 
now  he  Mrs.  Charles  W.  Tupper,  and  I  a  candi- 
date for  state-prison,  where  several  persons 
would  be  extremely  glad  to  land  me." 

"You  can't  fool  with  the  wedding-ceremony 
very  much  in  these  parts,  can  you?"  said  Tupper 
ruefully. 

I  could  see  that  he  was  inwardly  abusing  his 
hard  luck.  He  would  have  been  willing  enough 
that  I  should  go  to  jail,  provided  that  Beatrice 
thereby  became  his  wife.  I  did  not  blame  him 
much.  Were  the  case  reversed  I  might  have  felt 
just  as  he  did. 

"We  could  have  procured  a  pardon  from  the 


THE  VOICE  OF  AUTHORITY  275 

governor,  or  something,"  he  added,  thinking 
aloud. 

"No,  I  thank  you,"  I  returned.  "I  am  willing 
to  be  kind  and  obliging,  and  in  some  respects  I 
like  the  ministry;  but  I  do  not  care  about  going 
to  jail." 

"Not  even  for  me?"  ventured  Beatrice. 

"If  it  would  do  you  any  good  I'd  serve  twenty 
years  for  you,  my  dear  young  lady.  But  I  won't 
marry  you  to  another  fellow  and  go  to  prison  my- 
self, not  for  love  or  money." 

"Of  course  not,"  she  assented.  "How  fortu- 
nate that  you  sent  to  those  lawyers  for  advice.  I 
should  have  been  the  bride  of  three  or  four  dif- 
ferent men,  all  in  one  morning,  if  we  had  not 
been  warned  in  time." 

"Yes,"  I  added,  "and  if  we  had  omitted  the 
dress-rehearsal,  and  I  had  married  you  down- 
stairs to  Mr.  Fielding,  as  we  first  planned,  we 
should  be  in  a  still  worse  fix.  You  could  never  set 
it  aside  on  the  ground  of  accident,  or  anything 
like  that,  as  you  could  have  done  in  my  friend 
Tupper's  case." 


276  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

I  shot  that  last  suggestion  at  the  dominie  just 
for  luck.  I  didn't  want  him  to  feel  too  bad  about 
the  chance  he  had  missed. 

"Yes,  of  course,"  said  the  girl,  "a  marriage  by 
accident  would  not  stand  in  the  courts,  so  I 
should  not  have  been  compelled  to  remain  Mrs. 
Tupper." 

"Of  course  not,"  assented  the  clergyman,  look- 
ing much  crestfallen.  He  seemed  really  un- 
happy over  it. 

Then  Beatrice  was  seized  with  one  of  those 
senseless  fits  of  sympathy  women  have,  and  ad- 
ded, with  a  bright  smile.  "But  I  would  rather 
have  been  Mrs.  Tupper  than  Mrs.  Fielding.  So 
I  might  never  have  gone  to  law  about  it,  after 
all." 

"Really?"  said  the  poor  cleric,  with  a  beatified 
grin. 

I  went  over  and  kicked  the  dress-suit  case.  I 
kicked  it  clear  to  the  other  end  of  the  room.  I 
might  have  spared  my  energy,  for  the  young  lady 
laughed  in  the  dominie's  face.  Then  the  break- 
fast bell  sounded,  and  she  hurried  back  into  her 


THE  VOICE  OF  AUTHORITY  277 

room.  It  was  just  as  well  she  went.  We  were 
both  getting  foolish  over  her,  and  we  needed  all 
our  wits  and  a  united  company. 

Tupper  and  I  looked  at  each  other  in  blank 
dismay.  Beatrice  seemed  strangely  oblivious  to 
the  fact,  but  we  were  dished.  There  was  no  mis- 
take about  it  this  time.  That  monstrous  statute 
left  no  loophole  for  us  through  which  to  crawl. 

It  was  only  when  all  seemed  lost  that  I  real- 
ized what  hopes  I  had  founded  on  the  wild  scheme 
of  a  mock  marriage,  into  which  ordinarily  sen- 
sible men,  like  the  young  clergyman  and  myself, 
had  been  beguiled  through  the  witcheries  of  the 
young  lady  and  the  misfortunes  that  threatened 
her. 

As  there  was  nothing  else  that  could  be  done 
for  the  present,  I  went  down  to  breakfast  with  a 
sore  heart.  Oh,  if  I  could  only  have  laid  my 
hands  on  the  stolen  manuscript  of  that  play! 

We  had  arranged  to  have  Mary  and  Ellen 
serve  Tupper  a  meal  in  my  room,  where  he  was 
to  remain  concealed  until  we  could  rearrange  our 
plans. 


278  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

It  began  to  look  as  if  he  would  have  to  marry 
the  girl  to  Fielding  in  the  end.  Certainly  I 
wouldn't  do  it  after  reading  that  statute. 

I  felt  pretty  blue  as  I  sat  down  to  breakfast, 
but  I  was  no  more  so  than  every  one  else  at  the 
table.  As  the  time  drew  near  the  whole  family 
were  oppressed  by  the  young  girl's  very  ap- 
parent unhappiness.  Fielding  had  tried  to  keep 
a  bold  front,  but  he  could  have  felt  very  little 
joy  in  the  success  of  his  calculations. 

Perhaps  he,  too,  as  the  critical  moment  ap- 
proached, began  to  have  misgivings,  and  to  wish 
that  he  had  never  descended  to  the  dishonorable 
course  which  was  to  make  Beatrice  Apthorpe  his 
unwilling  bride.  I  hope  so,  anyway. 

Beatrice  was  late,  but  when  she  came  down  she 
was  radiant.  She  smiled  upon  every  one  and 
even  bestowed  a  gracious  nod  upon  her  destined 
husband  whom  she  had  hitherto  rather  studiedly 
ignored. 

What  had  got  into  the  girll  Had  she  been 
playing  with  me  all  along?  No,  I  could  not  very 
well  believe  that,  for  when  she  looked  at  me  her 


THE  VOICE  OF  AUTHORITY  279 

eyes  had  a  shine  in  them  that  I  had  never  seen 
before. 

I  could  not  make  it  out,  so  gave  up  trying. 
A  man  who  endeavors  fully  to  comprehend  any 
woman,  even  the  simplest  of  her  sex,  has  a  job  of 
large  dimensions  on  his  hands,  and  Beatrice  Ap- 
thorpe  possessed  as  complex  a  personality  as  any 
woman  I  had  ever  met. 

After  breakfast  we  all  went  out  on  the  veranda 
It  was  a  very  gloomy  wedding-party. 

Beatrice  invited  Fielding  to  walk  with  her  in 
the  garden.  Was  she  going  to  make  a  last  appeal 
for  mercy,  or  did  she  intend  to  throw  him  off  his 
guard? 

I  watched  her  as  they  walked,  with  jealous 
rage  boiling  in  my  heart.  I  noticed  that  she 
kept  well  in  view  all  the  time.  There  was  no 
effort  to  draw  the  actor  aside  for  a  private  con- 
ference. She  laughed  and  chatted,  and  I  could 
see  Fielding  smiling  all  over.  How  I  wanted 
to  choke  him.  He  her  husband  I 

For  half  an  hour  or  more  the  bride  and  groom 
sauntered  back  and  forth  on  the  lawn  before  us 


280  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

while  we  all  sat  and  watched  them.  The  girl  was 
apparently  resigned  to  her  fate  and  endeavouring 
to  make  the  best  of  it.  Her  relatives  had  done 
their  duty  as  they  saw  it,  but  they  were  very  de- 
jected. 

It  was  nearly  eleven  o'clock  when  the  pair  re- 
joined us.  The  wedding  was  to  take  place  at 
quarter  of  twelve,  and  at  quarter  past  that  hour 
the  carriage  was  to  drive  the  couple  to  the  depot. 

Beatrice  went  up-stairs  to  finish  her  toilette.  I 
hurried  after  her  to  my  room,  where  Tupper  was 
still  cudgeling  his  brains  for  some  expedient, 
without  avail. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  elapsed,  and  then 
Beatrice  tapped  on  our  door. 


CHAPTER  XX 

WANTED:  A  HUSBAND' 

When  Beatrice  entered  we  were  both  silent 
with  wonder,  she  had  been  transfigured  with 
such  startling  loveliness.  Ordinarily  she  was 
attractive  and  original  rather  than  an  aspiring 
beauty.  There  are  moments  when  women  out- 
shine themselves,  and  this  morning  she  was 
radiant. 

Tupper  was  dumfounded.  He  had  never 
seen  her  like  that  before.  I  had — once,  in  the 
rose-garden  that  morning  and  as  our  glances 
met  I  felt  inspired  by  her  joy  and  confident 
hope. 

Our  eyes  were  exchanging  rapid  wireless 
telegrams  of  love  and  trust  and  mutual  under- 
standing. She  was  ready,  then  and  there,  to 
be  my  wife,  if  I  would  marry  her — and  I  ?  My 
heart  beat  high  with  triumphant  expectation. 
I  was  fully  prepared  to  solve  the  whole  prob- 
lem by  wedding  her  on  the  spot,  if  it  could 


282  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

only  be  brought  to  pass.  But  Tupper — how 
about  Tupper?  Would  he  consent  to  turn  the 
proposed  dress-rehearsal  into  a  genuine  cere- 
mony? It  seemed  very  unlikely  unless  he  was 
urged  into  it  by  some  clever  ruse  on  our  part. 
The  young  clergyman  had  aspirations  in  that 
direction  himself,  and  would  not  surrender 
them  without  a  desperate  struggle.  Perhaps 
it  would  be  impossible  to  persuade  him  at  all. 

Our  eyes  had  said  all  that  ?  Wait  until  you 
yourself  love  and  are  beloved  and  are  placed 
in  a  similarly  desperate  situation. 

"Are  you  ready  to  perform  the  ceremony,  Mr. 
Plympton?"  she  asked,  with  arch  of  eyebrow. 

"I  do  not  understand  you,"  I  declared 
(though  I  had  caught  her  play  instantly).  Tup- 
ter  stared  at  us  both  in  bewilderment. 

"Don't  you  see  there  is  but  one  way  open 
for  me!"  she  explained  for  the  clergyman's  bene- 
fit. "Before  I  go  down-stairs  I  must  be  mar- 
ried to  some  one.  That  is  what  the  law  says. 
The  marriage  down-stairs  won't  count  at  all, 
if  I'm  married  already." 


WANTED:  A  HUSBAND  283 

"But,"  protested  the  amazed  dominie,  "you 
do  not  mean — " 

"I  am  not  married  now,  you  wish  to  say?" 
rejoined  Beatrice.  "That  is  unfortunately  true, 
to  be  sure.  I  certainly  am  not  going  to  die  an 
old  maid,  however.  I  have  only  fifteen  minutes, 
but  even  in  that  short  time  I  can  find  husbands 
to  burn." 

She  looked  at  me  so  roguishly,  she  blushed 
so  brilliantly,  she  was  altogether  so  bewitch- 
ing, that  I  was  dazzled — and  scared,  too,  for 
Tupper  must  scent  what  was  in  the  wind. 
So  I  frowned  and  asked  her  what  on  earth  she 
was  talking  about. 

Tupper  knew,  or  rather  thought  he  knew; 
so,  flushing  to  the  roots  of  his  fair  hair,  he 
seized  her  hand  and  sought  to  touch  it  with  his 
lips.  But  she  snatched  it  away  laughing. 

"Oh,  no,"  she  cried,  "wait  until  we  find  out 
if  you  are  to  have  the  appointment.  You 
know  the  latest  smart  fad  among  the  girls  is 
to  have  a  list  of  husbands  certified  by  the  civil 
service  commission.  As  you  are  not  a  veteran 


284  ^HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

of  the  Spanish-American  War  you  are  not  en- 
titled to  any  preference.  Then,  too,  Mr.  Plymp- 
ton  may  refuse  to  unite  us.  In  that  case  I 
shall  have  to  select  another  candidate,  as  you 
could  not  very  well  be  the  bridegroom  and  the 
officiating  clergyman  at  one  and  the  same  time." 

"But,  who  else  is  there?"  cried  the  enrap- 
tured and  bewildered  Tupper. 

"Well,"  said  Beatrice,  counting  on  her  fin- 
gers, "There  is  Henry,  the  gardener,  that's 
one;  and  Alfred,  the  coachman,  that's  two; 
and  Fran9ois,  the  chef,  that's  three — and  three 
is  all  the  law  allows.  But  they  are  all  ready 
and  within  call." 

"Nonsense,"  said  the  dominie,  with  a  gay 
laugh.  "The  time  is  short,  but  if  Mr.  Plympton 
will  act  the  part  of  a  brave  man,  the  law  will 
declare  you  my  wife,  and  no  one  shall  take  you 
from  me." 

"What  do  you  take  me  for,  Tupper?"  I 
snorted.  "Do  you  think  that  I  would  serve 
time  in  the  penitentiary  for  the  sake  of  making 
her  your  wife  ?" 


WANTED:  A  HUSBAND  285 

"Can't  you  see  there  is  no  other  course?" 
he  urged.  "We  would  manage  to  save  you 
from  any  serious  consequences." 

"And  will  promise  to  bring  you  flowers  and 
read  to  you  while  in  prison,"  mockingly  im- 
plored Beatrice. 

'Thank  you  politely,  both  of  you.  I'll  see 
myself  in  Jericho  before  I'll  make  you  her  hus- 
band, Tupper." 

"How  mean!"  deplored  Beatrice.  "You  see, 
Mr.  Tupper,  you  will  have  to  be  the  clergyman, 
and  marry  me  to  some  one  else.  Now,  Alfred, 
the  coachman,  is  a  veteran  of  the  Spanish  War, 
and  the  law  gives  a  preference  to  veterans,  but 
that  should  not  apply  in  a  case  of  this  kind. 
Fra^ois  is  younger  than  the  coachman  and 
not  so  fat  as  Henry  the  gardener;  besides,  he 
makes  bully  raspberry  tarts.  I  nominate  Fran- 
9ois.  Ellen,  go  and  fetch  him." 

"Don't  stir  from  the  room,  Ellen,"  I 
cried,  in  affected  wrath.  "I  never  heard 
of  such  folly.  Raspberry  tarts,  indeed!  You 
make  me  sick — they  would  make  you  sick. 


286  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

I    won't    permit    you    to    marry    the    cook." 

Tupper  looked  from  one  to  the  other  in  puz- 
zled astonishment.  He  was  still  blind  as  to 
the  climax  up  to  which  we  were  leading. 

"Since  you  decline  to  make  me  Mrs.  Tupper, 
and  forbid  me  to  marry  Fra^ois,  or  to  eat  his 
tarts,  what  do  you  say  to  Alfred,  the  coach- 
man ?" 

"To  the  devil  with  Alfred,  the  coachman!" 
I  cried  with  a  melodramatic  gesture. 

"Then  how 'about  Henry,  the  gardener? 
He  is  a  brave  man,  and  muscular — as  Mr. 
Tupper  has  reason  to  know."  (Poor  Tupper 
flushed  scarlet  at  the  recollection  of  his  eject- 
ment from  Burgmoor  by  the  stalwart  Henry, 
the  day  previous,  and  began  to  realize,  at  last, 
that  his  own  hopes  were  vain.)  "After  all, 
Henry  is  not  so  fleshy  as  the  man  we  had  last 
spring,"  continued  the  merry  young  lady.  "Be- 
sides, I  could  dose  him  with  mamma's  reduc- 
tion-tablets, and  he  will  become  as  thin  as  sis- 
ter Kit,  who  nearly  died  of  them." 

"Now,  look  here,"  I  cried,  springing  the  coup 


WANTED:  A  HUSBAND  287 

we  had  been  preparing  all  the  while,  "if  you 
do  not  stop  this  nonsense  I'll — why,  I'll  marry 
you  myself!" 

''Indeed,  I  hadn't  thought  of  that,"  she  said; 
but  her  looks  belied  her  words.  The  clergy- 
man began  to  catch  the  drift  of  things,  and 
looked  much  disconcerted  and  perplexed. 

"The  situation  is  very  clear,"  I  now  ex- 
plained. "This  young  lady  requires  a  hus- 
band, and  must  be  provided  with  one  within 
seven  minutes  by  the  clock.  I  would  be  glad 
to  accommodate  you,  Mr.  Tupper,  if  I  could  do 
so  safely,  and  it  would  do  any  good.  But  the 
insurmountable  obstacle  is  that,  in  case  of  two 
unauthorized  marriages,  it  is  the  second  one 
and  not  the  first  that  holds  good." 

"How  do  you  know  that?"  he  demanded, 
all  hope  vanishing  at  that  announcement. 

"I  called  up  a  lawyer  by  telephone,  after 
breakfast,"  I  prevaricated.  "A  recent  decision 
settles  the  law  that  way."  It's  nice  to  be  judge 
and  jury  and  court  of  appeal,  all  rolled  into 
one. 


288  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

"Then  I  would  not  be  her  husband,  after 
all,  even  if  you  should  marry  us?" 

"Not  if  I  also  married  her  to  Harry  Field- 
ing afterwards,  which  is  an  essential  part  of  the 
program.  Otherwise  she  would  not  wed  either 
of  us.  She  could  take  her  time  and  find  some 
one  more  worthy  and  acceptable,  from  a  worldly 
point  of  view,  at  all  events,  than  either  you  or 
I." 

The  poor  young  parson  was  nonplussed.  It 
was  a  mean  trick,  but  I  had  to  do  it.  He  would 
never  have  consented  to  make  her  Mrs.  Plymp- 
ton,  if,  by  hook  or  by  crook,  there  was  any 
chance  remaining  of  my  making  her  Mrs.  Tup- 
per. 

"Come,"  I  said,  taking  Beatrice  by  the  hand, 
and  giving  it  a  tender  squeeze,  to  let  her  know 
what  an  earnest  of  love  lay  beneath  my  jesting 
demeanor,  "I  cannot  make  her  your  wife,  but 
you  can  make  her  mine.  Of  course  Fra^ois 
is  altogether  out  of  the  question.  Therefore, 
there  is  no  alternative.  You  must  marry  us, 
friend  Tupper,  and  do  it  quickly." 


WANTED:  A  HUSBAND  289 

'Yes,  Mr.  Tupper,  there  is  no  help  for  it," 
rejoined  Beatrice,  with  that  musical  laugh  of 
hers.  "I  would  have  been  glad  to  many  you, 
if  there  was  no  other  way  out  of  it.  That  is 
out  of  the  question,  however,  as  you  see.  I 
thank  you  a  thousand  times,  though,  and  I 
shall  never  forget  your  manliness  and  devoted 
courage  throughout  this  trying  ordeal.  But 
I  must  marry  some  one  immediately,  and  Mr. 
Plympton  seems  to  be  the  handiest  man  I  can 
secure,  just  at  this  moment.  If  Fra^ois  were 
only  up-stairs,  I  might  hesitate,  but  there  is  no 
time,  now,  even  to  send  for  him.  Under  the 
circumstances  I  can  only  repeat  what  Mr. 
Plympton  has  just  said:  Please  marry  us,  and 
do  it  as  quickly  as  you  can." 

It  was  rough  on  Tupper.  He  had  the  worst 
end  of  it  all  the  way  through. 

He  glanced  keenly  at  both  of  us,  and  I  think 
he  could  surmise,  from  the  way  we  were  looking 
at  one  another,  that  we  did  not  at  heart  take 
the  matter  as  lightly  as  we  pretended.  It  is  a 
way  we  have,  this  merry  folly.  We  have  it  still. 


290  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

At  any  rate,  he  rose  to  the  occasion.  There 
was  nothing  little  or  mean  about  that  young 
clergyman.  My  laughing  bride  had  not  treated 
him  right.  She  acknowledges  that,  now  that 
she  has  grown  more  mature,  and  is  sorry.  But 
he  was  too  noble-hearted  to  take  any  small 
man's  revenge.  He  was  about  to  open  the 
book  and  begin  reading  the  service,  when  we 
were  all  startled  and  alarmed  by  a  knock  on 
the  door  of  Beatrice's  room  adjoining.  Even 
a  friendly  interruption  at  this  crisis  would  be 
fatal,  we  had  cut  the  thing  so  fine. 

"Can't  I  come  in,  sister?"  Mrs.  Gosse  was 
calling.  It  was  a  natural  and  proper  request 
— but  most  inconvenient.  As  Beatrice  couldn't 
say  she  was  particularly  engaged  getting  mar- 
ried, I  wondered  what  would  happen. 

She  was  equal  to  the  emergency.  Gliding 
to  the  door  of  her  own  apartment,  she  whispered 
tensely:  "Kit,  if  you  love  me,  get  me  some 
hairpins  at  once.  Don't  delay  a  moment,  or 
I  shall  never  be  dressed  in  time." 

The    ruse    was    distinctly    feminine.     Sister 


WANTED:  A  HUSBAND  291 

Kit  scurried  along  the  hall  in  a  wild  scramble 
for  those  necessities  of  coiffure  which  a  woman 
always  wants  at  the  last  moment  and  never  can 
find  when  she  is  in  a  hurry.  Could  Tupper 
put  the  thing  through  while  Mrs.  Gosse  was  find- 
ing and  returning  with  the  hairpins?  That 
was  the  all  important  question. 

He  began  with  due  solemnity,  seeming  to 
me  unnecessarily  slow  and  unctuous,  but  he 
finally  got  to  the  crucial  question: 

"Wilt  thou  have  this  man  to  thy  wedded 
husband —  ?"  Before  he  could  proceed  further 
Mrs.  Gosse  called:  "Here  are  the  hairpins, 
dear — both  shell  and  wire.  Can't  I  come  in 
and  help  ?" 

"Not  now,  Kit,"  whispered  her  sister,  while 
reaching  her  hand  through  the  opening  as  she 
set  the  door  just  ajar.  "I'm  in  a  dreadful  state 
and  shall  go  crazy  if  I  try  to  talk  to  anyone 
while  Mary  and  Ellen  are  fussing  with  me." 

"Catherine,  tell  Beatrice  to  descend  imme- 
diately," cried  Apthorpe  sternly,  from  the  stair- 
case. 


HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

"Just  wait  a  moment,  papa,"  returned  the 
young  lady  who  was  in  the  process  of  being 
made  my  wife,  while  Mrs.  Gosse  hurried  down 
to  explain  the  alleged  cause  of  delay  to  the 
impatient  father  and  bridegroom.  She  did  us 
a  good  turn,  for  they  were  beginning  to  smell 
a  rat — not  the  kind  used  with  hairpins,  either. 

Still  at  her  post  by  the  door,  Beatrice  called 
to  us:  "Yes,  a  thousand  times  yes,"  and  Tupper 
thereupon  pronounced  us  man  and  wife. 

That  wedding  broke  all  records  for  despatch 
when  the  time  occupied  by  the  interruptions 
is  deducted. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

COMPLICATIONS 

IF  the  secret  marriage  up-stairs  was  con- 
ducted with  unseemly  haste,  amid  frivolous 
merriment  and  interruptions  that  threatened  at 
any  moment  to  prevent  its  consummation,  the 
ceremony  that  followed  in  the  parlors  below 
was  sufficiently  solemn  and  conventional,  on 
the  surface  of  things.  And  yet  we  one  and  all 
felt  as  though  we  were  sitting  on  barrels  of 
nitroglycerin,  the  while.  The  Apthorpes  and 
Fielding  were  expecting  some  rebellious  demon- 
stration from  Beatrice  at  the  last  moment.  They 
thought  that  it  would  come  before  the  supposed 
marriage  was  performed.  We  knew  that  the 
explosion  would  occur  immediately  after. 

Apthorpe  and  Gosse  were  sad  but  stern,  de- 
termined to  do  their  duty,  as  they  saw  it.  Mrs. 
Gosse  and  her  mother  were  tearful,  Fielding 
appropriately  suave,  Beatrice  subdued  and  ap- 


294  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

parently  submissive,  while  I  trembled  with 
conflicting  emotions  as  I  opened  the  book  and 
began  to  read  the  service.  I  was  in  a  most 
peculiar  and  embarrassing  position. 

I  think  I  may  safely  venture  the  assertion 
that  I  am  the  first  husband  who  was  ever  in 
honor  bound  to  officiate  at  a  wedding,  with  his 
own  wife  and  another  man  as  the  high  con- 
tracting parties,  within  a  few  minutes  after  his  own 
nuptials.  It  was  the  most  unpleasant  duty  I 
ever  performed,  but  I  managed  to  put  it  through 
to  a  finish,  though  Master  Howard  Gosse  eyed 
me  all  the  time,  in  a  way  to  make  me  tremble. 

It  was  Fieldingi  himself  who  applied  the 
match  to  the  fuse  and  produced  the  fireworks 
we  had  all  been  looking  for.  The  last  words 
of  the  service  had  hardly  been  spoken  when  he 
sprang  forward  and  attempted  to  seize  Beatrice 
in  his  arms  and  kiss  her.  My  blood  boiled, 
but  I  endeavored  to  restrain  myself,  for  I  could 
see  materials  for  the  darkest  tragedy  in  our 
little  drama,  if  I  didn't  take  care. 

Beatrice  nimbly  eluded  her  supposed  husband, 


COMPLICATIONS  295 

crying:  "No,  sir,  you  shall  not  even  touch  me 
until  you  fulfill  your  promise  and  tell  the  whole 
truth  at  once.  I  demand  it  as  my  just  right." 

Fielding  shuffled  uneasily,  but  braced  him- 
self up  to  the  emergency,  as  he  said:  "I  will 
keep  my  word,  dearest.  Mr.  Apthorpe,  I  have 
a  confession  to  make.  All  is  fair  in  love  and 
war,  you  know,  and  this  is  both  affection  and 
conflict.  She  would  not  have  married  me,  and 
you  good  people  would  never  have  favoured 
my  suit  had  I  adopted  ordinary  tactics.  My 
love  is  my  best  and  my  only  excuse." 

"What  is  all  this,  sir?"  demanded  Apthorpe, 
frowning  with  puzzled  astonishment. 

"Nothing  much,  only  I  must  now  admit  what 
I  have  hitherto  strenuously  denied.  The  fact  is 
there  was  a  play,  written  by  Mrs.  Fielding,  as 
she  has  always  asserted.  She  and  I  met  while 
I  undertook  to  revise  it  for  her.  That  accounts 
for  her  apparent  indiscretions.  It  also  explains 
my  own  infatuation.  How  could  I  come  into 
such  close  contact  with  so  much  charm  and 
loveliness  and  not  be  driven  to  distraction?" 


296  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

"How,  indeed!"  sneered  Gosse. 

"She  was  so  eager  to  have  her  play  accepted 
and  produced  she  thought  of  nothing  else.  I 
fear  she  was  not  so  much  in  love  with  me  as  she 
was  enamoured  of  the  drama.  But  I  am  going 
to  change  all  that.  To  do  so  will  be  my  pride 
and  my  duty."  And  he  once  more  sought  to 
embrace  Beatrice. 

"Not  now,  not  yet,"  she  cried.  "Papa,  do 
you  not  understand  at  last?  Will  you  not 
believe  him,  though  you  always  refused  to 
credit  me?" 

"It  sounds  plausible;  I  will  try  to  believe  it," 
said  her  father  incredulously.  He  clearly  thought 
the  newly  wedded  pair  were  "putting  up  a  job" 
to  re-establish  themselves  in  his  good  graces. 

"It  may  be  all  right,  but  it  looks  rather  fishy," 
observed  Gosse. 

"Beatrice  couldn't  write  a  play  if  she  tried; 
I  am  glad  to  believe  it  isn't  in  her  to  do  such 
a  thing,"  sniffed  her  mother,  who  regarded 
dramatic  literature  and  all  things  thereunto 
pertaining  with  a  holy  horror. 


COMPLICATIONS  297 

"But,  papa,  mamma,  here  is  the  play,"  cried 
Beatrice;  and  before  my  astonished  eyes  she 
produced  the  manuscript  she  must  have  taken 
from  my  room  with  her  own  fair  hands.  Yes, 
she  had  fooled  me  to  the  top  of  my  bent.  She 
says  she  will  never  do  it  again,  but  I  have  my 
misgivings. 

While  I  was  involuntarily  detained  in  hiding 
under  the  garden  bench  by  Sears  and  Fielding, 
the  previous  evening,  she  had  possessed  herself 
of  the  manuscript,  and  then  capped  the  climax 
by  coming  in  and  helping  me  hunt  for  it.  She 
was  sorry  to  worry  me,  but  determined  to  have 
her  own  way.  When  a  woman  says  she  will 
take  your  advice  and  be  guided  by  it  implicitly, 
she  usually  does  so  with  some  mental  reservation. 

This  was  the  hour  of  her  supreme  triumph. 
For  this  she  had  watched  and  waited,  schemed 
and  prayed.  With  sparkling  eyes  she  showed 
her  father,  mother  and  brother-in-law  the  work 
of  her  own  pen  and  the  interlineations  in  the 
hand  of  Fielding. 

They  were  all  puzzled  and  chagrined,  but  not 


298  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

yet  convinced.  Apthorpe  questioned  the  actor 
sharply.  "How  are  we  to  know  that  you  are 
not  lying  now,  when  you  admit  that  you  have 
lied  to  us  hitherto,"  he  demanded. 

"Have  you  still  got  that  anonymous  letter 
which  summoned  you  to  your  daughter's  res- 
cue?" he  asked  with  calm  assurance. 

"Well,  what  of  it?" 

"I  wrote  it,"  declared  Fielding,  with  his 
inimitable  aplomb.  'You  have  only  to  com- 
pare my  handwriting  there  with  my  correc- 
tions of  the  play,  or  better  still  with  a  fresh 
specimen  of  my  penmanship,  with  which  I  will 
furnish  you  right  now." 

So  saying  he  sat  down  at  the  desk  and  wrote 
half  a  page  while  Apthorpe  opened  a  private 
box  and  drew  out  the  fatal  missive  through  which 
he  had  been  so  terribly  misled.  A  moment's 
glance  at  the  three  specimens  of  chirography 
was  sufficient  to  demonstrate  the  truth  of 
Fielding's  assertions. 

"Well,  Beatrice,"  said  her  father  sadly,  "all 
this  would  have  been  quite  pertinent  half  an 


COMPLICATIONS  299 

hour  ago;  but  I  do  not  see  the  use  of  it  all  now. 
As  the  wife  of  such  a  man  as  he  has  confessed 
himself  to  be,  you  must  necessarily,  in  time, 
sink  to  his  level,  if  you  have  not  already  done  so." 

"But,  papa,  is  the  fact  of  my  innocence 
nothing  to  you?" 

Apthorpe,  like  many  professing  Christians, 
was  apt  to  be  harsh  in  family  matters.  "No, 
my  young  lady,"  he  said,  sternly,  "your  im- 
prudence led  you  to  folly,  and  folly  to  ruin. 
With  such  evidence  in  your  possession  you  need 
not  have  married  the  fellow,  if  you  did  not  wish 
to  do  so.  Having  united  yourself  to  him,  you 
cannot  complain  if  I  am  somewhat  indifferent." 

"But,  papa,  I  am  not  married  to  him,"  she 
cried,  springing  her  second  coup  with  an  air  of 
triumph. 

There  was  a  general  exclamation  of  astonish- 
ment, while  Fielding  glared  at  me  and  I  re- 
turned the  ill-will  expressed  in  his  eyes  with 
compound  interest. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that,  vou  silly  child  ?" 
asked  her  father. 


300  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

"Just  what  I  say,  I  am  not  married  to  him  at 
all.  This  man  who  performed  the  service  is  not 
a  real  minister,  and  the  words  we  have  said  have 
no  binding  force  or  legal  validity.  He  is  not 
Mr.  Tupper  at  all,  but  came  here  in  disguise. 
He  is  Mr.  Basil  Plympton,  a  dramatic  critic." 

"And  what  is  more,"  I  interposed,  "I  am 
not  a  clergyman." 

"What  is  this?"  cried  Fielding,  in  cold  fury, 
"Do  you  think,  sir,  to  impose  on  me?  Even 
if  what  you  say  is  true,  it  would  make  no  dif- 
ference. A  marriage,  even  by  an  unauthorized 
person,  is  binding  in  this  state,  as  I  am  advised 
by  the  best  authority." 

Did  he  think  to  crush  us  ?  Had  he  known  of 
my  disguise  all  along,  while  holding  this  trump 
card  up  his  sleeve  ?  He  was  a  clever  schemer 
and  hard  to  match  in  cunning.  It  was  more 
than  likely  that  he  had  had  his  suspicions,  but 
had  preferred  to  let  matters  take  their  course, 
fearing  that  Beatrice  might  back  out,  thus 
luring  her  on  to  be  caught  in  her  own  trap. 

"Since  you  are  so  well  advised,  sir,"  I  replied, 


COMPLICATIONS  301 

"you  will  be  aware  that  such  an  unauthorized 
marriage  is  binding  only  in  the  event  that  the 
contracting  parties  are  free  to  wed.  If  one  of  them 
is  married  already  the  statute  does  not  apply." 

"What  do  you  mean  to  insinuate  by  that?" 
demanded  the  actor,  turning  pale. 

"What  are  you  both  talking  about?"  queried 
the  perplexed  and  astounded  Apthorpe. 

"All  hands  seem  to  have  gone  crazy,"  re- 
marked Gosse  with  a  forced  laugh  in  which  no 
one  joined. 

"Oh,  dear,  what  are  we  coming  to,"  be- 
wailed Mrs.  Apthorpe,  as  she  began  to  cry 
hysterically. 

"The  explanation  is  simple  enough,"  I  an- 
swered with  matter-of-fact  coolness.  "The  lady 
was  already  my  wife  when  I  went  through 
the  farce  of  pretending  to  make  her  yours,  Mr. 
Fielding.  As  she  is  Mrs.  Basil  Plympton  she 
cannot  become  Mrs.  Fielding,  by  any  law  of  any 
state  in  the  union  until  she  is  divorced  from  me. 
Your  infamous  conduct  toward  her  has  justified 
the  deception." 


302  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

"This  is  the  most  outrageous  piece  of  impu- 
dence that  was  ever  perpetrated,"  cried  the 
actor.  "If  you  dare  repeat  that  falsehood,  you 
rascal,  I'll  brain  you!"  And  he  seized  upon 
the  back  of  a  chair  with  a  dangerous  expression 
in  his  black  eyes.  It  was  a  mere  stage  trick, 
though  well  played.  His  melodramatic  flourish 
served,  however,  to  support  his  position,  and  it 
intensified  the  interest  of  his  audience. 

"None  of  that  in  my  house,"  commanded 
Apthorpe,  taking  Fielding  by  the  arm. 

"I  bow  to  your  will,  sir,"  said  the  big  bluffer. 

Beatrice  had  screamed  and  sprung  between 
me  and  Fielding,  when  he  threatened  me. 
"  Can't  we  all  try  to  display  a  little  patience  and 
common  sense?"  she  asked.  "If  you'll  only 
listen,  papa,  I  will  prove  to  you  clearly  enough 
whose  wife  I  am." 

"So  far  as  that  is  concerned,  mademoiselle," 
returned  her  disgusted  parent,  "I  do  not  very 
much  care,  so  long  as  you  are  well  off  my  hands." 

"Mr.  Tupper,"  cried  Beatrice,  preparing  to 
play  another  trump  card,  "come  down,  Mr. 


COMPLICATIONS  303 

Tupper,  and  bring  Mary  and  Ellen  with  you." 

They  had  been  waiting  anxiously  at  the  head 
of  the  stairs  for  some  such  summons,  and  now 
descended  and  marched  into  the  room. 

"Well,  sir,  who  are  you,  and  what  are  you 
doing  in  my  house?"  demanded  Apthorpe, 
with  a  heavy  frown. 

"I  am  the  Rev.  Charles  W.  Tupper,  sir," 
announced  the  young  clergyman  with  becoming 
dignity. 

"Tupper!"  exclaimed  Gosse.  "Are  there 
two  Tuppers  ?  All  this  looks  like  an  outrageous 
conspiracy  against  us." 

"Be  quiet,  John,"  interposed  Apthorpe.  "I 
fully  appreciate  the  enormity  of  the  case.  Let's 
see  what  the  fellow  has  to  say  for  himself. — 
You  claim  to  be  a  clergyman?" 

"Certainly,"  asserted  Tupper,  flushing  and 
becoming  disconcerted  by  the  smiles  of  in- 
credulity on  the  faces  of  those  he  was  seeking 
to  impress  with  his  newly  restored  identity. 

"And  what  are  you  doing  here?" 

"I  was  persuaded  by  your  daughter  to  assist 


304  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

her  in  punishing  a  man  who  had  wronged  her, 
and  in  making  her  the  wife  of  one  whom  she 
loved  and  wished  to  marry.  I  am  sure  that  I 
have  done  what  is  right,  and  that  you  will  ac- 
knowledge it  when  you  know  all  the  facts." 

"Indeed?  And  why  didn't  you  come  to  me 
about  all  this  beforehand?"  demanded  Ap- 
thorpe  sharply.  His  persistent  incredulity  was 
getting  on  Tupper's  nerves.  The  clergyman 
was  manly  and  courageous,  but  his  want  of 
status  phased  him.  He  became  flustered,  and 
began  to  look  like  a  guilty  man. 

"Because,"  he  stammered,  after  a  fatal  hesi- 
tation, "because  you,  sir,  had  been  led  to  be- 
lieve evil  of  your  own  child;  and  I  wanted  to 
help  her  establish  her  innocence  and  the  guilt  of 
this  knave."  He  pointed  his  finger  at  Fielding, 
but  his  hand  trembled  and  he  never  appeared  to 
worse  advantage.  His  manner  had  now  become 
so  bad  that  he  aroused  and  confirmed  suspicion 
instead  of  carrying  conviction.  He  produced 
the  certificate,  and  Mary  and  Ellen  testified  to 
the  genuineness  of  their  signatures,  but  they 


COMPLICATIONS  305 

tittered  nervously  the  while,  after  the  fashion 
of  servants,  which  made  matters  all  the  worse. 

Our  case  was  now  fully  presented,  but  it 
didn't  look  right,  even  to  me.  It  was  all  too 
fine-spun.  There  was  too  much  plot  and  trick- 
ery about  it. 

Fielding  was  not  slow  to  take  advantage  of 
the  fact.  He  may  have  had  serious  misgivings, 
but  his  all  was  at  stake  and  he  played  a  bold 
man's  part.  "This  is  the  most  absurd  per- 
formance I  ever  heard  of!"  he  cried.  "My 
wife,  as  you  all  know,  has  been  acting  very 
strangely  of  late.  The  whole  affair  has  worried 
her,  for  which  I  am  myself  somewhat  to  blame. 
But  she  is  so  nervous  and  hysterical  she  has 
been  victimized  by  these  two  designing  rascals. 
This  fellow  who  came  in  with  the  maids  from 
the  kitchen  is  the  very  chap  you  had  kicked 
out  of  the  premises  yesterday  by  your  gardener. 
He  is  a  reporter  sent  up  by  a  New  York  news- 
paper, and  is  capable  of  any  unscrupulous 
knavery  to  intrude  upon  us  and  work  up  a  sen- 
sation." 


306  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

"He  seems  to  have  succeeded,"  put  in  Gosse. 
"Mr.  Fielding  is  right.  I  remember  seeing  the 
fellow  at  church. — We  will  have  you  punished 
as  you  deserve  for  this  untimely  intrusion,  sir!" 
he  exclaimed,  turning  upon  the  now  crestfallen 
Tupper. 

"Out  of  this,  you  impudent  dog,  out  of  my 
house  instantly!"  stormed  the  enraged  Ap- 
thorpe.  But  Tupper  stood  his  ground  manfully, 
and  no  one  was  on  hand,  just  at  that  moment, 
who  cared  to  enforce  the  command  for  his  eject- 
ment. "I  am  here  rightfully  and  lawfully,  as 
you  will  soon  admit,"  he  asserted  firmly. 

"Come,  I  am  going  to  endure  this  scene  no 
longer,  the  carriage  is  waiting,"  cried  Fielding 
triumphantly,  as  he  seized  the  shrinking  Beatrice 
by  the  arm,  "You  are  mine  now,  and  no  one 
shall  hinder  me.  Come  at  once  and  put  an  end 
to  this  disgraceful  scene." 

That  was  the  last  straw.  I  had  been  strug- 
gling to  control  myself,  but  could  stand  no  more. 

"You  villain,"  I  cried,  seizing  the  rascal  by 
the  throat.  "If  ever  you  dare  lay  hands  on  my 


COMPLICATIONS  307 

wife  again,  I'll  launch  your  miserable  soul  into 
eternity!" 

I  clutched  his  windpipe  in  a  vicelike  grip, 
until  his  face  grew  black  and  his  eyes  took  on  a 
glassy  stare. 


GENERAL   DEMENTIA 

I  am  glad  they  pulled  me  off  and  released 
Harry  Fielding  from  my  grasp  before  I  choked 
him  to  death.  I  was  myself  astonished  at  my 
own  savage  impulse  and  insensate  desire  to 
take  his  life.  These  primeval  passions  lurk 
somewhere  in  all  of  us,  I  presume,  but  my  par- 
ticular devil  had  never  before  so  taken  possession 
of  me.  Fielding  was  shorter  than  I,  but  much 
heavier  and  broader  of  shoulder.  Under  ordi- 
nary conditions  I  was  no  match  for  him  physi- 
cally, yet  for  the  moment  he  had  been  as  a 
child  in  my  hands. 

But  my  sudden  ebullition  of  fury  had  gone 
far  to  lose  our  case.  Tupper  was  already 
thoroughly  discredited,  and  I  was  now  in  much 
the  same  boat.  With  all  the  winning  cards  in 
our  hands  we  were  rapidly  throwing  away  the 
game. 


GENERAL  DEMENTIA  309 

Apthorpe  and  Gosse  had  managed  to  separ- 
ate us,  after  a  short  struggle  during  which  the 
women  shrieked  for  help.  Several  men  ser- 
vants entered  the  drawing-room  just  as  the  brief 
combat  was  over,  and  stood  at  the  door  wait- 
ing for  orders,  while  all  four  of  us  stood 
glaring  at  one  another  and  panting  for  breath. 

"What  a  disgraceful  exhibition!"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Apthorpe.  "And  I  thought  him  so  spiri- 
tual and  unworldly,"  I  was  forever  fallen  from 
her  good  graces,  anyhow. 

"I  am  going  to  send  for  the  police,"  announced 
Mrs.  Gosse. 

"Don't  do  that,  Kit,"  implored  Beatrice. 
"Mr.  Plympton  is  my  husband,  and  nothing 
any  one  can  say  or  do  will  alter  the  fact.  Mr. 
Fielding  brought  the  attack  upon  himself,  and 
is  fortunate  to  have  escaped  serious  injury." 

Gosse  now  collected  his  scattered  faculties 
and  took  matters  in  hand.  "This  will  never 
do,"  he  said.  "We  can't  have  murderous 
violence  here,  and  both  of  you  should  under- 
stand it  and  restrain  yourselves.  On  the  other 


310  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

hand,  we  must  keep  our  own  heads  level  and  look 
into  this  thing  carefully,  however  little  we  may 
enjoy  the  task.  We  must  not  make  the  fatal 
mistake  of  sending  Beatrice  from  the  house  with 
one  man  when  she  is,  in  fact,  the  wife  of  another. 
The  question  seems  to  be  who  this  man  is  who 
has  been  masquerading  here  as  a  clergyman,  and 
which  one  of  the  claimants  the  poor,  silly  child 
has  actually  married.'* 

"That  seems  reasonable,"  I  said.  "It  really 
sounds  like  sense.  It  is  the  first  glimmering  of 
rationality  I  have  heard  in  this  conglomeration 
of  dementia." 

Gosse  was  a  business  man,  and  he  seemed 
to  have  the  clearest  head  of  any  one  in  the  party. 
I  began  to  have  hopes  that  he  might  manage 
to  straighten  out  the  muddle. 

The  broker  eyed  me  keenly.  'You  are  the 
center  of  the  disturbance,"  he  said.  "In  any 
event,  you  are  utterly  discredited.  If  you  did, 
in  fact,  marry  this  girl  secretly,  as  you  claim, 
and  then  undertook  to  make  her  another  man's 
wife,  you  are  a  cross  between  a  villain  and  a 


GENERAL  DEMENTIA  311 

lunatic.  If  you  did  not  in  fact  do  these  things, 
but,  nevertheless,  continue  to  assert  that  you 
did  them,  you  are  just  plain  lunatic.  That  is 
the  only  difference.  We  cannot  well  believe  a 
word  you  say.  Have  you  any  further  proof, 
aside  from  your  bare  assertion  and  that  of  those 
who  are  implicated  with  you  in  this  wretched 
business?'* 

I  glanced  about  me  in  desperation.  I  had 
never  dreamed  that  it  would  be  so  difficult  to 
make  the  plain  truth  appear  rational.  From 
beginning  to  end  in  this  affair  the  truth  was 'the 
last  thing  people  seemed  to  want  or  were  willing 
to  accept. 

Just  as  I  was  going  to  ask  them  to  telegraph 
to  some  people  who  knew  me,  I  caught  sight  of 
my  friend,  Carl  Krull,  striving  to  make  his 
way  up  the  drive  in  the  face  of  Henry  and  a 
corps  of  gardeners  armed  with  shotguns  and 
prepared  to  shoot  reporters  on  sight.  At  last 
I  was  to  be  indisputably  identified,  and  claim 
my  own! 

"There  is  a  man  who  knows  me,  and  whose 


312  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

word  you  cannot  doubt!"  I  cried,  pointing 
through  the  window  to  the  picturesque  group 
in  the  driveway. 

"Why,  that  is  Mr.  Krull,  my  manager,"  said 
Fielding,  suddenly  turning  pale  and  evidently 
giving  up  the  game  for  lost.  "He  should  not 
be  kept  out,"  he  added,  anxious  to  let  himself 
down  as  easily  as  possible  with  Krull's  help. 

Apthorpe  had  heard  of  Krull — as  who  has 
not  ? — and  forthwith  sent  word  to  Henry  to  call 
off  his  over-zealous  dogs  of  war  and  admit  the 
new  arrival. 

When  there  has  been  a  nice,  sweet  family  row, 
such  as  will  occur  now  and  then  in  the  best 
regulated  households,  and  a  stranger  suddenly 
rings  the  doorbell,  it  is  refreshing  to  see  how 
quickly  peace  is  restored.  The  excited  com- 
batants stop  calling  one  another  names,  and 
cease  trying  to  scratch  out  eyes  and  pull  hair. 
When  the  guest  enters  he  is  greeted  by  a  smiling 
group  of  saints,  all  wearing  wings  and  halos. 

When  the  well-known  theatrical  manager 
entered,  therefore,  we  all  calmed  down  and 


GENERAL  DEMENTIA  313 

tried  to  behave  as  if  there  were  nothing  out  of 
the  ordinary  going  on. 

When  Carl  came  in  he  did  not  seem  to  notice 
me  at  all,  a  neglect  I  could  not  understand.  He 
greeted  the  actor  warmly  and  congratulated  him 
effusively.  Then  Fielding  presented  Beatrice 
as  his  wife  and  the  author  of  "Diamonds 
Lead,  but  Hearts  are  Trumps." 

The  young  lady  thought  it  best  to  make  no 
disclaimer  but  to  wait  until  Carl  saw  and  recog- 
nized me.  We  both  wondered  what  had  got 
into  him,  anyway. 

Then  Carl  said  a  few  things  to  Beatrice  which 
much  astonished  her  sedate  and  prosaic  family, 
as  well  as  surprising  Fielding  and  putting  me  in 
a  seventh  heaven  of  joy.  That  stolid  German 
took  up  the  manuscript  which  had  been  at  the 
bottom  of  so  many  adventures  and  expatiated 
on  its  merits,  predicting  that  it  would  be  the 
comedy  sensation  of  the  year. 

The  Apthorpes  were  impressed.  They  were 
not  enthusiastic  in  their  approval  of  matters 
theatrical,  but  when  Carl  Krull  praised  a  play 


314  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

and  stood  ready  to  produce  it,  the  fortunate 
dramatist  was  already  on  the  footsteps  of  the 
Hall  of  Fame. 

Carl  did  that  much  good,  anyhow.  But  he 
soon  made  a  sad  mess  of  things  and  mixed  us 
all  up  worse  than  we  had  been  before  his 
arrival. 

"By  the  way,  Mr.  Krull,"  said  Gosse,  when 
the  excitement  over  the  debut  of  Beatrice  as  a 
successful  playwright  had  somewhat  subsided, 
"can  you  tell  us  who  this  gentleman  is?"  As 
he  spoke  he  pointed  to  me.  "He  says  that  he 
knows  you  and  asserts  that  we  are  mistaken  as  to 
his  identity. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  know  him  well,"  replied  the  dra- 
matic manager  gravely,  looking  directly  at  me 
for  the  first  time  since  he  had  entered. 

"Will  you  kindly  tell  us  who  he  is?"  asked 
Gosse,  with  well-affected  nonchalance. 

"Certainly.  He  is  the  Rev.  Charles  W. 
Tupper  of  St.  Luke's  rectory,  New  York  City. 
I  have  known  him  for  years." 

My  rising  hopes  were  blasted  by  this  utterly 


GENERAL  DEMENTIA  315 

unexpected    assertion.     "Why,    you    chuckle- 
headed  Dutchman!"  I  roared. 

"Have  you  noticed  anything  peculiar  about 
him?  Is  he  quite  "right'?"  asked  Gosse  anx- 
iously. 

"He  does  queer  things  sometimes,"  admitted 
Carl,  with  an  exasperating  grin. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  this  foolishness,  Carl," 
I  cried  in  sore  dismay.  "Can't  you  see  that  I 
want  to  be  recognized — that  I  must  be  identified  ? 
Tell  them  at  once  that  I  am  Basil  Plympton, 
the  dramatic  critic,  and  be  quick  about  it." 

"But  your  telegram?" 

"Oh,  bother  the  telegram!" 

'You  said  no  matter  what  you  said." 

"And  that's  what  I  say  now,  no  matter  what  I 
said  then.  Can't  you  see  for  yourself  that  every- 
is  changed?"  That  nuisance  of  a  telegram!  I 
had  forgotten  all  about  it.  I  seemed  to  be  deeper 
in  the  toils  than  ever. 

"Stop  tampering  with  the  witness,"  sneered 
Fielding,  taking  courage  once  more  after  he  had 
lost  all  hope. 


316  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

"On  second  thoughts,"  began  the  perplexed 
Carl,  running  his  hand  through  his  hair,  and 
wondering  how  he  could  satisfy  my  varying 
demands  without  branding  himself  before  the 
assembled  company  of  respectable  people  as  a 
liar. 

"Well,  what  are  the  second  thoughts?"  I 
urged,  determined  to  bring  him  right  up  to  the 
mark. 

He  combed  his  hair  until  his  head  must  have 
become  sore.  At  last  he  worked  an  idea  into 
it.  His  face  brightened.  "I  should  have  added," 
he  said,  "that  my  reverend  young  friend  some- 
times writes  for  the  press  under  an  assumed 
name.  He  is  known  among  newspaper  men  as 
Mr.  Basil  Plympton." 

"You  idiot!"  I  cried,  fairly  beside  myself. 
"Why  must  you  try  to  invent  things  all  by  your- 
self ?  I  didn't  telegraph  you  anything  like  that ! " 

"The  case  seems  to  be  going  against  you,  sir," 
said  Gosse.  "It  now  turns  out  that  you  are 
both  Plympton  and  Tupper!" 

"Then  who  am  I?     Won't  somebody  please 


GENERAL  DEMENTIA  317 

tell  me  that?'*  cried  the  poor  young  clergyman, 
wondering  whether  he  was  going  to  be  allowed 
to  remain  on  earth  at  all. 

'You?"    snapped    Apthorpe.     "You  are  an 
interloper.     No  one  cares  who  you  are,  anyway." 

Tupper,  looking  like  a  ruined  community, 
crawled  back  into  his  shell,  sorry  that  he  had 
ventured  to  say  a  word  for  himself. 

"Papa,"  urged  Beatrice,  "can't  you  see  that 
Mr.  Plympton  telegraphed  Mr.  Krull  not  to 
recognize  him  when  he  came  here,  but  to  ad- 
dress him  as  Mr.  Tupper?  Mr.  Krull  did  not 
understand  that  things  had  changed  and  that 
Mr.  Plympton  now  wants  to  be  identified." 

"Beatrice,  I  do  not  wish  to  hear  another  word 
from  you,"  declared  her  angry  parent.  "How 
any  sane  girl  could  be  willing  to  involve  her 
whole  family  in  such  a  disgraceful  mess  I  cannot 
for  the  life  of  me  see." 

"Nobody  seems  to  know  who  anybody  is," 
observed  Mrs.  Apthorpe  with  a  sniff. 

"Come,  Carl,  speak  up  like  a  man  and  con- 
fess that  I  telegraphed  you,"  I  demanded. 


318  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

"That's  right,  he  telegraphed  me,"  exclaimed 
poor  Carl,  turning  red  and  looking  very  sheepish. 

"The  fellow  is  a  hypnotist,"  laughed  the  actor 
impudently.  "He  has  bewitched  us  all." 

"I  believe  you  are  right,"  said  Gosse,  giving 
up  his  manful  effort  to  unravel  the  snarl,  and 
becoming  as  befuddled  as  all  the  rest  of  the 
group. 

Fielding  now  came  forward  once  more  to  in- 
sist that  he  must  end  the  scene  by  bearing  his 
wife  away  from  this  turmoil.  I  begged  Carl  to 
interfere.  I  knew  he  could  control  the  actor  by 
a  word.  I  told  him  Beatrice  had  already  be- 
come my  wife  by  a  secret  marriage  before  I  mar- 
ried her  to  Fielding.  I  explained  rapidly  and 
with  gusto.  I  told  him  that  if  he  ever  had  any 
friendship  for  me  now  was  the  time  to  show  it. 
I  tried  in  every  way  to  convince  him  as  to  the 
righteousness  of  our  cause  and  the  iniquity  of 
Fielding's. 

I  succeeded  in  convincing  Carl  that  I  was  clean 
out  of  my  head  and  a  raving  maniac. 

He  was  not  slow  to  announce  his  conviction. 


GENERAL  DEMENTIA  319 

He  said  all  my  friends  had  noticed  that  I  had 
been  breaking  down  with  overwork,  and  that 
I  was  to  be  pitied  rather  than  blamed  for  my 
queer  delusions  and  strange  conduct. 

"I  sent  for  him  to  come  and  see  me  at  Hill- 
town  in  order  to  get  him  away  from  New  York," 
said  Krull.  "He  telegraphed  me  from  New 
York  on  Saturday  that  he  was  going  to  leave  on 
the  midnight  train.  Instead  of  coming  to  me 
he  came  here,  where  he  pretends  to  have  married 
a  girl  whom  he  has  just  made  the  bride  of  my  good 
friend  Mr.  Fielding.  I  think  the  case  is  clear." 

"His  vicious  attack  on  me,  which  was  entirely 
unprovoked,  shows  that  it  is  not  safe  for  him  to 
be  at  large,"  said  Fielding,  showing  Carl  the 
marks  of  my  fingers  on  his  throat.  "Poor 
fellow,  I'm  sorry  for  him,  now  that  I  under- 
stand, and  I  assure  you,  Mr.  Krull,  I  bear  no 
malice.  But  such  a  raving  lunatic  should  not 
be  permitted  to  deprive  me  of  my  wife,  even  if 
she  is  possessed  with  a  perverse  fancy  and  wishes 
to  set  her  marriage  at  naught." 

"I  believe  you  are  right,  after  all,"  said  Ap- 


320  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

thorpe.  "Here,  two  or  three  of  you  men,  take 
these  fellows  out  to  the  stable  and  lock  them  up 
in  the  boiler-room  until  we  can  summon  the  police 
and  turn  them  over  to  the  village  authorities." 

Half  a  dozen  stalwart  serving-men,  who  had 
been  anticipating  some  such  command,  sprang 
forward  eagerly,  seized  upon  Tupper  and  myself 
and  began  to  drag  us  away.  Everything  had 
gone  wrong  and  become  topsy-turvy. 

Beatrice,  who  had  born  up,  until  now,  con- 
fident in  the  ultimate  triumph  of  our  cause,  broke 
down  with  heart-rending  sobs:  "Papa,  papa," 
she  wailed,  "how  can  you  be  so  cruel  and  so 
obstinately  blind?" 

Just  as  we  were  being  hustled  from  the  room, 
in  spite  of  our  struggles  and  protests — for  I 
began  to  lay  about  me  like  the  madman  I  was 
supposed  to  be — our  exit  was  delayed  by  an 
uproar  without,  that  rose  above  the  confusion 
within. 

The  men  who  held  us  stopped  to  look  and 
listen  as  cries  of  "Stop,  thief!  Help!"  and  the 
like  resounded. 


GENERAL  DEMENTIA  321 

As  we  could  not  very  well  be  placed  in  any 
worse  position  than  we  were  in  already,  almost 
any  diversion  must  necessarily  work  in  our 
favour.  I  began  to  hope  that  something  was 
about  to  occur  that  would  turn  the  tide  our 
way.  But  a  glance  out  of  the  window,  and  I 
gave  myself  over  to  utter  despair! 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

BOOMERANG 

The  uproar  grew  nearer  and  nearer,  and 
some  one  rushed  up  the  steps  of  the  veranda, 
leaving  a  mob  hooting  without,  and  dashed  in 
among  us. 

If  we  all  seemed  more  or  less  out  of  our  heads, 
the  person  who  thus  rudely  broke  in  upon  our 
unhappy  and  disunited  company  was  clearly 
just  escaped  from  a  madhouse. 

His  face  was  covered  with  a  yellow  paste 
which  glued  his  hair  and  beard  into  a  weird 
coiffure.  The  paste  had  been  mixed  with 
feathers.  The  madman  was  covered  with  them. 
I  felt  like  saying,  "Soft  you  now,  the  fair  Ophe- 
lia!" But  I  didn't  dare.  I  did  not  want  any 

more  mistaken  identities  around,  or  to  confuse 
things  in  any  way. 

But  I  was  lost,  utterly  lost,  nevertheless.  It 
was  Samuel  Sears!  Were  my  troubles  never 
to  stop  accumulating? 


BOOMERANG  323 

Mrs.  Apthorpe  was  the  first  to  address  the 
poor  creature  who  had  thus  thrown  himself  into 
the  midst  of  us,  and  now  stood  glaring  about 
him  in  a  bewildered  fashion.  "Why,  Mr. 
Sears,"  she  cried,  "what  has  happened  to  you  ?" 

"Where  have  you  been,  Sam?"  asked  Field- 
ing brusquely,  not  at  all  pleased  with  the  inex- 
plicable appearance  and  demeanour  of  his  friend 
and  associate. 

"How  came  you  in  this  plight?"  queried 
Gosse,  with  a  grim  smile  of  wonderment. 

"Has  any  one  been  trying  to  murder  you?" 
demanded  Mr.  Apthorpe. 

Samuel  Sears  paid  no  attention  to  these  per- 
tinent questions,  for  he  had  suddenly  perceived 
me  standing  behind  one  of  the  serving-men  and 
not  unwilling  to  escape  his  observation. 

Samuel  assumed  the  center  of  the  stage, 
folded  his  arms  and  frowned  upon  me  until 
his  pasty  eyebrows  met  over  his  nose  as  he 
glared  at  me  with  the  air  of  an  avenger  who 
wants  blood. 

If  he  had  been  costumed  for  the  part  he  would 


324?  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

have  been  more  impressive.  The  pie  and 
the  feathers  detracted  from  his  solemnity. 

"You  see  that  man!"  he  shouted,  pointing 
his  finger  at  me  and  trembling  with  rage. 

"Well?"  they  all  cried  expectantly. 

"Arrest  him.  He  is  a  thief,  a  robber,  an 
impostor!  He  has  entered  this  home  secretly, 
and  in  blasphemous  disguise,  the  better  to  ac- 
complish his  wicked  designs.  Oh,  I'll  show 
you  up,  you  damn*  fool!  Just  see  me  do  it!" 

"We  know  all  these  things  you  are  saying 
about  him,"  said  Apthorpe  grimly.  "But  who 
is  he?" 

"Who  is  he?"  asked  Gosse. 

"Who  is  he?"  demanded  every  one  breath- 
lessly. 

"  He  is  a  rascally  humbugger !  He  imposed  on 
the  bishop,  he  cheated  the  wardens,  he  fooled 
Mr.  Dobbs,  he  deceived  everybody.  He  blas- 
phemed in  the  church  and  desecrated  its  altar. 
He  betrayed  me,  his  friend,  wound  me  up  in 
stolen  clothes-line,  imprisoned  me  in  a  hen-coop, 
and  drowned  me  in  custard  pie !  He  is  a  knave, 


BOOMERANG  325 

a  thief,  a  liar,  a  swindler,  a  hypnotist,  a  rogue, 


a- 


"Hold  on!"  cried  Apthorpe,  interrupting 
this  interesting  catalogue  of  my  high  crimes  and 
misdemeanours,  "We  know  all  these  things 
already.  Just  tell  us  who  he  is;  that  is  the 
question." 

"That  I  will,"  exclaimed  Sam,  with  vengeful 
eye  and  triumphant  mien.  "He  is  not  the  Rev. 
Charles  W.  Tupper,  or  the  reverend  anything 
else.  He  is  that  impudent  and  sacrilegious  im- 
postor, Basil  Plympton  of  the  New  York  *  Ex- 
press'!" 

"Indeed!"  exclaimed  Gosse,  suddenly  becom- 
ing intensely  interested,  "And  can  you  tell  us 
who  this  fellow  may  be?"  he  said,  pointing  to 
Tupper. 

"Certainly,"  cried  Samuel  with  vengeful  glee. 
"Arrest  him,  too!" 

"Why?  What  has  he  done?"  cried  Ap- 
thorpe, awaking  to  the  significance  of  these 
virulent  accusations. 

"He  is  in  the  plot  up  to  his  neck.     He  is 


326  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

Tupper,  the  genuine  and  only  Tupper,  the  Rev. 
Charles  W.  Tupper,  of  St.  Luke's  rectory,  New 
York  City,  and  a  disgrace  to  his  cloth.  He 
kept  in  hiding  while  Basil  Plyrapton  fooled 
everybody,  and  lent  him  his  clothes  and  his 
sermon  so  that  the  deception  could  be  practised 
successfully.  Oh,  you  fellows  thought  you  were 
smart  to  roll  me  up  in  a  ball  of  rope  and  half 
strangle  and  smother  me!  It  was  great  sport, 
wasn't  it  ?  But  my  time  has  come  and  I  am  on 
top  now.  I  will  have  you  both  in  jail  before 
night,  see  if  I  don't,  and  all  these  good  people 
will  back  me  up  and  appear  to  testify 
against  you!"  And  Sam  fairly  bubbled  over 
with  the  triumphant  expectation  of  our  down- 
fall and  utter  disgrace.  It  was  nuts  to  him. 

"This  is  clear  and  convincing  testimony  from 
a  witness  somewhat  biased  against  the  gentle- 
men he  accuses,"  announced  Gosse,  suddenly 
illuminated  by  a  dawning  comprehension  of 
the  true  state  of  the  case.  "One  thing  more, 
Mr.  Sears,"  he  continued.  "You  say  that  you 
have  been  outrageously  ill-treated  by  Mr.  Tupper 


BOOMERANG  327 

and  Mr.  Plympton — that  they  tied  you  up  with 
rope  and  imprisoned  you  in  a — a  hen-coop,  do 
I  understand?" 

"And  mopped  me  around  in  nasty,  sticky, 
mushy  pie — don't  forget  that,"  urged  Samuel, 
without  the  faintest  inkling  of  the  effect  he  was 
producing  upon  his  audience. 

"No,  we  will  not  forget,"  rejoined  Gosse  with 
apparent  sympathy.  "  But  why  did  they  do  it  ? 
How  do  you  explain  their  remarkable  conduct  ?  " 

"They  were  afraid  I  would  give  them  away. 
They  had  conspired  to  cheat  my  friend  Fielding 
and  prevent  his  marriage  by  having  the  cere- 
mony performed  by  the  bogus  parson  instead  of 
the  real  one,  and  they  knew  I  wouldn't  stand  for 
it! — There,  I've  fixed  you  now,  you  fellows!" 

While  Gosse  had  thus  been  examining  the 
volunteer  witness,  Fielding  had  been  frowning 
and  shaking  his  head  and  vainly  trying  to  catch 
the  eye  of  Samuel  Sears,  but  now  he  broke  out 
with:  "You  infernal  fool!  you!  You  are  the 
biggest  faker  of  them  all,  and  in  league  with 
them  from  the  very  beginning." 


328  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

It  was  Fielding's  last  card,  but  Sam  trumped 
his  ace  with:  "Why,  Harry,  how  can  you  be  so 
unjust?  Do  I  look  as  though  I  had  been  in 
league  with  anybody,  or  had  any  friends  any- 
way?" 

Gosse  now  crossed  the  room  and  took  me  by 
the  hand,  saying:  "I  suppose,  sir,  we  have  much 
to  thank  you  for  and  many  apologies  to  make, 
but  you  must  admit  that  things  did  look  black 
against  you  for  a  time." 

"What  is  he  saying?"  asked  the  astonished 
Sears. 

;'You  unspeakable  idiot,  you  have  ruined 
me!"  snarled  Fielding.  "Get  out  of  this  before 
they  give  you  what  you  deserve." 

Beatrice,  who  had  given  herself  up  to  despair 
and  had  been  weeping  hysterically  on  her 
sister's  shoulder  now  looked  up,  smiling  through 
her  tears,  to  say:  "I  told  you  the  truth,  papa, 
from  the  very  first,  but  you  would  not  believe  me." 

Apthorpe  rubbed  his  forehead  thoughtfully. 

"She  is  right,  James,"  cried  his  wife  with  con- 
viction. 


BOOMERANG  329 

"Of  course  she  is,"  declared  her  sister. 

"It  is  beginning  to  dawn  upon  me  that  I  have 
been  duped  and  misled  into  doing  a  gross  in- 
justice to  my  child,"  said  Apthorpe  slowly.  "It 
is  a  hard  thing  for  me  to  admit,  but  I  can  fail  to 
see  the  truth  no  longer. 

"Mr.  Fielding,  I  always  knew  that  you  were 
an  ill-bred  upstart,  but  I  was  led  to  believe, 
through  the  dishonourable  artifice  to  which  you 
have  confessed,  that  you  had  bewitched  my 
child  and  taken  advantage  of  her  youth  and 
inexperience  to  compromise  her.  The  law  of 
God  forbids  me  to  take  vengeance  into  my  own 
hands  and  chastise  you  personally,  but  do  not 
tempt  me  too  far.  Take  yourself  out  of  my 
sight  or  my  natural  passions  will  overthrow  my 
self-control  and  I  shall  do  you  violence.  Go!" 

Harry  Fielding  had  played  his  game  boldly 
and  well,  for  high  stakes,  and  had  walked 
through  the  snares  of  his  opponents  like  cob- 
webs, only  to  have  his  house  of  cards  demolished 
by  the  indiscretion  of  his  most  zealous  friend. 
Was  it  the  irony  of  fate  or  the  guiding  hand  of 


330  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

providence?  He  turned  on  his  heel  without  a 
word,  and  left  the  room  with  bowed  head, 
pausing  only  to  give  one  last  despairing  glance 
upon  the  woman  he  had  so  nearly  won  and  lost 
so  utterly. 

Samuel  Sears  still  stood  in  the  center  of  the 
room,  glancing  from  one  to  another  of  us  in 
speechless  wrath  and  amazement.  The  out- 
come of  events  passed  his  comprehension. 

" Aren't  you  going  to  do  anything  to  him?" 
he  demanded  at  length,  nodding  toward  me. 

"The  poor  fellow  doesn't  understand  yet!"  ex- 
claimed Beatrice.  And  she  indulged  in  one  of  her 
musical  laughs,  that  broke  the  tension  all  around. 

First  Gosse  joined  in  her  mirth,  then  Tupper 
and  Carl  Krull.  Then  Mrs.  Apthorpe  uttered 
a  suppressed  titter  which  set  her  daughter 
Catherine  into  spasms  of  uncontrollable  merri- 
ment. Master  Howard  Gosse  gazed  from  his 
mother's  side.  The  contagion  even  affected 
the  stern  and  unbending  Apthorpe,  who  gave  an 
audible  chuckle,  which  set  the  servants  off  into 
an  uproarious  chorus. 


BOOMERANG  331 

Sears  glared  from  one  to  another,  and  then 
he  shook  his  fist  at  me,  crying:  "This  is  all  your 
doing,  but  I'll  get  even  with  you,  if  it  takes 
years!'*  With  that  he  stalked  out  of  the  room 
and  down  the  driveway,  probably  intending  to 
join  his  friend  Fielding. 

He  had  done  his  utmost  to  avenge  himself  for 
his  fancied  wrongs  and  to  punish  me;  but  he 
had  actually  proved  my  guardian  angel  in  dis- 
guise. 

Now  that  I  can  look  back  upon  the  events  of 
that  somewhat  emotional  hour  with  some  degree 
of  calmness  I  do  not  much  wonder  that  those 
matter-of-fact  people  were  confused  and  be- 
wildered by  the  surprises  we  tried  to  spring  on 
them  all  at  once. 

If  we  could  only  have  developed  things  more 
artistically  and  taken  more  time  for  it,  they 
wouldn't  have  been  so  mixed  up.  We  ex- 
pected them  to  comprehend  and  grasp  in  an 
eye-wink  a  dozen  or  more  happenings  they  had 
never  dreamed  possible. 

They   had   to   learn   that   Beatrice   was   an 


332  HEARTS  ARE  TRUMPS 

authoress  and  to  look  over  her  play.  They  had 
to  understand  that  Fielding  was  an  odd  and 
original  genius  at  rascality,  and  had  tricked 
them  all  into  bringing  about  this  marriage. 
They  had  to  comprehend  that  I  wasn't  a  parson, 
that  Tupper  wasn't  a  newspaper  man,  that  we 
had  swapped  identities,  that  the  wedding  they 
had  all  witnessed  wasn't  a  wedding  at  all,  that 
Beatrice  was  not  the  actor's  wife,  though  they 
had  just  seen  her  married  to  him,  and  that  she 
was  my  wife,  although  I  had  just  undertaken 
to  marry  her  to  another  man. 

Now  that  this  was  all  explained  and  under- 
stood there  were  kisses  and  tears  and  general 
congratulations  and  felicitations,  as  we  re- 
hearsed the  story  of  our  adventures  and  misad- 
ventures and  cleared  up  the  few  points  that  still 
remained  obscure. 

We  all  stayed  to  luncheon  at  the  Apthorpes' 
hospitable  board,  and  the  real,  true  and  only 
Rev.  Charles  W.  Tupper  held  his  due  and 
proper  place  in  the  seat  of  honor  and  asked  the 
blessing  upon  us  with  fervent  reverence. 


BOOMERANG  333 

Not  long  afterwards  my  bride  and  I  said  a 
general  farewell  and  were  driven  to  the  train 
in  the  same  carriage  which  had  awaited  Beatrice 
when  she  was  about  to  become  the  wife  of  Henry 
Fielding. 

As  Alfred,  the  coachman,  whipped  up  his 
horses  I  wondered  what  he  would  say  if  he  were 
told  that  he  had  occupied  a  conspicuous  place 
on  my  wife's  civil-service  list  of  husbands! 

We  concluded  not  to  pass  our  honeymoon  in 
the  Berkshires;  they  were  too  lively  for  us.  We 
found  things  much  more  quiet  in  New  York. 
Nevertheless,  I  had  a  restful  vacation. 

A  month  later  I  chanced  to  meet  Sam  Sears 
and  asked  him  home  to  dine  at  our  modest 
apartment.  To  my  great  joy  he  shook  my  ex- 
tended hand  and  accepted  the  invitation. 

But  Beatrice  was  much  disturbed  when  we 
arrived  together.  Taking  me  aside  she  whis- 
pered: "How  could  you?  Didn't  you  know  that 
we  haven't  a  thing  for  dessert  but  custard  pie!" 

THE  END. 


The  Gipsy  Count 

&  Romance  of  Cfnbalrp 

By  MAY  WYNNE,  author  of  «  Henry  of 
Navarre,"  "A  Maid  of  Brittany,"  etc. 
With  frontispiece  in  colors  by  E.  Fuhr. 

I2mo,  $1.50 


SINCE  that  famous  novel,  "When  Knighthood 
was  in  Flower,"  it  is  safe  to  say  that  no  more 
living  romance  of  chivalry,  no  more  glowing  love 
story  of  mediaeval  days — with  all  their  red-hot  hatreds 
and  white-hot  passions — has  been  written.  Through 
the  race-feud  of  two  neighboring  noble  families,  for  ever 
on  the  alert  for  each  others'  lives  to  appease  their  fan- 
cied wrongs,  runs  the  golden  thread  of  fated  love  be- 
tween the  most  winsome  and  high-spirited  of  heroines 
and  the  most  noble-hearted  of  the  steel-clad  knights  of 
the  day.  How  siege  of  castle  is  transformed  to  siege 
of  heart  this  gifted  author  tells  in  the  engaging  story  of 
The  Gipsy  Count.  May  Wynne  makes  her  people 
living,  breathing  characters,  with  whom  the  reader  quick- 
ly makes  close  friends  and  whom  to  know  once  is  to 
remember  always.  This  is  one  of  those  rare  novels 
that  everyone,  without  exception,  enjoys  in  the  reading 
of  it,  and  afterwards  in  the  recollection  of  it. 


The  Hawk 


&  &>torp  of  aerial 

By  RONALD  LEGGE,  author  of  "  The 
Admirable  Davis/*  etc.      12  mo,  $1.50 


RONALD    LEGGE'S    novel,    "The    Hawk," 
reads  so  easily  and  vividly  that  it  is  as  if  one  sat 
and  watched  the  story  played  upon  the  stage. 
Moving  quickly  from  incident   to  incident,  its  exciting 
tale  of  a  war  in  the  air  and  of  the  awful  power  of  the 
next  wonder  of  the  age,  makes  present  reality  of  future 
fact. 

One  of  the  greatest  of  English  Generals,  Baden 
Powell,  has  been  telling  his  countrymen  that  it  is  no  idle 
dream  to  foresee  the  time — perhaps  but  a  few  years 
hence — when  England's  sea-girt  safety  will  be  imper- 
illed by  aerial  invasion.  Another,  and  even  greatei 
soldier,  Lord  Roberts,  has  warned  the  cock-sure  British- 
ers to  keep  an  eye  on  the  Kaiser's  legions  and  their  vast 
transport  facilities,  by  which  overwhelming  masses  of 
troops  could  be  landed  upon  the  British  coast  within 
twenty-four  hours. 

41  The  Hawk "  tells  of  the  accomplishment  of  all 
these  prophetic  utterances — and  of  how  the  tide  is  turn- 
ed. In  the  midst  of  all  the  breathless  activity  of  a 
splendid  tale  of  adventurous  doings  the  reader  is  charmed 
by  the  romance  of  a  famous  actress,  and  by  the  humor 
of  the  little  inventor  whose  timely  aid  clears  the  air  in 
the  end. 


The  Harvest  Moon 

&  (Tale  of  lobe  anb  Constant? 
By  J.  S.  FLETCHER.         12010.,  $1.50 


HERE  is  a  great  heart-throbbing  story — the  love 
problem  of  unthinking  youth ;  itspenality;  its 
great  reward  when  the  price  has  at  last  been 
paid.     It  is  told  in  the  manner  of  a  master  story-teller 
who,  while  he  thrills  his  readers,  elevates  their  minds 
and  tills  their  hearts. 

Some  Typical  Opinions  of  the  Reviewers  .* 
BUFFALO,  N.  Y.,  COURIER: 

Acclaimed  by  the  leading  critics  as  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  and  powerful  love  stories — one  of  the  most 
elevating  and  touching — that  has  been  published  for 
many  years. 

THE  OUTLOOK: 

"  This  story  represents  Mr.  Fletcher  in  his  highest 
vein.  It  is  a  happy  combination  of  finished  character 
drawing,  and  delightful  descriptions  of  environment. 
The  farm-house  in  the  Fenland,  the  home  of  Cornelius 
Van  de  Linde,  makes  a  perfect  setting  for  the  tragic 
love  episode  that  brought  the  first  cloud  into  the  iife  of 
his  daughter  Linda." 

KANSAS  CITY  STAR: 

Perusal  of  it  is  elevating — scarcely  could  one  read  it 
without  being  inspired. 


A  Prisoner  of  the  Sea 

By  CHAUNCY  C.  HOTCHKISS,  author 
of  "Fora  Maiden  Brave,"  "A  Colonial 
Free  Lance/'  "  Betsy  Ross,"  etc.  Illus- 
trated in  colors  by  Bert  Knight. 
12010  -  -  $1.50 


A  Few  Comments  by  the  Critics  .• 

CHICAGO  RECORD-HERALD: 

"  From  beginning  to  end  there  is  no  dull  situation  or 
quiet  page." 

NEW  YORK  TIMES: 

"  A  romantic  tale  of  love  and  adventure.'* 

PHILADELPHIA  RECORD  : 

"  Full  of  bounding  spirit  and  dashing  adventure — told 
with  vigor." 

BIRMINGHAM  HERALD: 

"  The  paramount  questions  of  the  book  are  action, 
mystery  and  love,  with  a  most  charming  American  girl  in 
the  center  of  the  stage." 

LOUISVILLE  JOURNAL: 

"  A  brave  tale  of  adventure — developed  with  skill  and 
finish." 


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